


On the brink

by Mordhena



Series: Crowley is Asmodeus Headcanon [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe, Castiel Whump, Cursed, Hell, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, The Darkness - Freeform, Torture, crowstiel, post s10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:12:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 43
Words: 44,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3998563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordhena/pseuds/Mordhena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I hated the cliff hanger ending of Brothers Keeper! How could they do that? Leave us not knowing who will survive. And worse still setting Castiel against Crowley?? I had to try and fix it...except something went wrong in my first chapter. Um. I'll try to fix it. Promise!</p><p>Sorry the title is dull. I'm open to suggestions.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hated the cliff hanger ending of Brothers Keeper! How could they do that? Leave us not knowing who will survive. And worse still setting Castiel against Crowley?? I had to try and fix it...except something went wrong in my first chapter. Um. I'll try to fix it. Promise!
> 
> Sorry the title is dull. I'm open to suggestions.

Stuck fast. Pinned like a moth. It's an affront to his power, and the fact that it's at the hands of his mother, only serves to amplify the insult. He's the King Of Hell! He shouldn't be vulnerable to witchcraft. He knows he is NOT vulnerable to hers. The failed attempt on his life proved that. Yet, here he is. Anchored in place. Bollocks.

Castiel's trapped too. That's some consolation. Embarrassing if it had been otherwise. Crowley immobilised while the pigeon was free to move about. But it doesn't help him to resolve the matter at hand. 

Rowena gathers up the Book of the Damned, and the codex and waves a hand at the angel muttering a spell. Her cold eyes sweep over Crowley reflecting nothing but contempt. He should be used to that by now, but something small and vulnerable, hidden deep inside still cringes and aches at the utter lack of love coming from her. _She never loved me._ He wishes that thought didn't hurt as much as it does. And then she is gone and he's still transfixed and the situation becomes immeasurably worse.

"Castiel, don't!" The angel is moving. Shuffling towards him, angel blade in hand. His eyes are dead, blood streaming from them like tears and his intent is clear. "Castiel!"

It's another cruel jest on his mother's part; to set the angel on him at the last. The one creature that has ever shown any kind of compassion to him. The one being in all the world who might possibly have loved him. So, it comes to this. The stupid pigeon is going to kill him and there's not a damned thing Crowley can do about it.

Well, he's certainly not going to cower. He can have a little dignity at least. He can die with his eyes wide open and his head held high. The angel is close now, within striking range and Crowley's eyes are fixed on the blade. At least it will be quick. He wonders if it will hurt.

It's pure instinct that has him lift a hand as if to parry the blow. And then his fingers close around Castiel's wrist and he fights to hold the blade away from his throat. Castiel roars, enraged and they teeter together precariously on the brink. If Castiel brings him down, Crowley knows, he is done for. He grits his teeth, straining to hold his balance.

"You can't kill me," he rasps between his teeth. "You owe me your life. I saved you! Me! I gave you grace and kept you alive until you could regain your own! You. Owe. Me!"

Castiel growls. Brings his free hand to Crowley's throat, choking him, fingers digging into the flesh and the demon feels his knees buckle. He curses, redoubling his efforts to keep his feet, to hold that glinting blade at bay. His fingers claw and scrabble at the hand clamped to his throat. He's fighting for his life and he knows he is losing.

"C-Cas," he chokes. "Kitten, p-please." Later, if there is a later, he will exact revenge for being thus reduced. He feels himself weakening. The edges of his vision grow dark and the arm holding Castiel's wrist begins to shake. 

Castiel shudders. He makes a choking sound. His fingers slacken on Crowley's throat and he drops the angel blade. Crowley watches it skitter to the floor, wonders if there might be some way to reach it. But his attention is brought back to the angel as heavy hands fasten on his shoulders. Castiel grips him, doubling over. He cries out with agony. His skin blisters and peels before Crowley's eyes and the angel spews blood from his mouth.

Crowley winces as the blood spatters his face and the front of his coat. He grabs Castiel's hands and peels them off, pushing the angel away, wrinkling his nose with distaste.

Castiel stumbles falls to his knees. He claws at his face, screaming now and Crowley swallows. He watches as the angel falls writhing on the floor. 

"It's just a spell. It can't kill a seraph." Crowley wishes he was more convinced of that. He stoops and reaches for the dropped blade, snagging it with his fingertips and pulling it closer. Picks it up and holds it defensively.

A deep wrenching cough and Castiel spews blood and a wisp of grace onto the floor. Crowley knows how that feels. The angel is choking, retching. More blood spills across the floor. Castiel convulses mutters a string of what sounds like Enochian and then he is still.

Minutes pass and Crowley can do little more than stand and watch. The angel doesn't move. He doesn't seem to be breathing. Crowley waits until he is certain and then he takes his cell phone from his pocket. He speed dials a number.

"I need you," he says. "I'll text you the address."


	2. Chapter 2

Time passes so infinitely slowly when you're bored. It might have been an hour, but who knows, it could have been less. Or more. He hasn't been keeping track. There's been no response to his voicemail, or the text he sent after. Not surprising, really. He's not even sure why he made the call. There's nothing that Dean could do against Rowena's magic anyway. Chances are he'd bring Moose with him and the giant would finish the job he started the last time he and Crowley met.

In any case the spell is dissipating with Rowena's distance. He can shuffle his feet. With the right amount of concentration - ah, there. He's free. 

Castiel is still as stone. Silent as the grave. Yet he doesn't look like a dead angel. There'd been no brilliant flash of dying grace. There are no ashes where his wings burned out. Crowley considers him for a long moment, frowning. He could take advantage of this. He lifts the angel blade in his hand. Studies it, pondering. The angel is helpless, if he's even still alive. He's vulnerable. It would be the easiest thing in the world to finish him off. It's unfair, of course. That's never bothered Crowley before, though. He takes a step nearer. Uses the blade to prod the angel's shoulder. Nothing.

"Huh." Crowley pockets the blade. He can always use a spare, after all. He's walking towards the exit, his mind turning to how to locate the evil bitch who calls herself his mother when a small sound stops him short. He turns to look back at Castiel.

The angel's eyes are open and they lock onto Crowley's, holding his gaze. Castiel stirs, pushing himself up to sit on the floor and Crowley has the blade in hand instantly. He takes a defensive stance, eyes narrowed watching the angel sharply. 

"My vessel. It's intact." Castiel runs his hands over his chest, frowning with something approaching puzzlement. 

"Somewhat battered, but in one piece," Crowley says. He keeps the blade raised, watching the angel's every move.

"It was disintegrating. Burning. From the inside out."

"Why so surprised? It's not the first time you've cheated death."

Castiel tries to stand and Crowley backs off a pace. He watches as the angel's legs give out and he falls to his knees. 

"I feel..."

"As bad as you look, no doubt." Crowley lowers the blade seeing that the angel seems to have regained control of himself. He steps forward, impatient with the newborn colt antics. Grips Castiel's arm and hauls him to his feet. "Perhaps you should heal yourself."

"There's no time. Rowena has the codex and the Book of the Damned. We can't let her get away."

"We don't have time for you to be weak, either," Crowley tells him. "Take a moment." 

Crowley walks away from the angel, brooking no argument. It's then that he notices the difference. A change, like a drop in barometric pressure, but it's not on the physical plane. He frowns. His skin crawls and he feels the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He turns to Castiel.

"Do you feel..."

The angel meets his eyes. Nods. "Something is... wrong," he replies.

"Very wrong." Crowley feels exposed. The building, for all its warding, is not safe. He steps to Castiel's side, grabs him by the arm and moves them both to his chambers in hell.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel slumped into a wingback chair by the fire and rested his head in his hands. He had not been able to fend off the hex that Rowena cast against him. She should not be able to influence a seraph. Castiel knew that it was because his grace was reduced. Yes, he'd gotten the small vial of grace back. But it was still small. Being cut off from heaven meant that Castiel could not replenish it. It was better than borrowed grace, and much preferable than no grace at all, but it was still next to useless against such a powerful witch.

He should be dead. At the very least, he should be seeking a new vessel. Those final moments before he'd fallen into oblivion had convinced him the vessel was doomed. Heat. Agonies such as he had never known had torn through the vessel, burning and consuming it from the inside out. At the last moment he'd desperately muttered an Enochian cleansing rite in an effort to break the hold of Rowena's magic. It had not worked. Castiel had felt the vessel begin to break apart even as he had lost his hold on consciousness.

Yet he had woken still within the body of Jimmy Novak. His injuries were healing. More slowly than they should, but he could feel the muscles, flesh and skin returning to normal.

"You look like you could use a drink."

Castiel looked up to find Crowley standing in front of him. The demon held two glasses of whiskey. One of which he offered to Castiel.

"I don't usually imbibe liquor," Castiel said. "But under the present circumstances..." He reached for the glass and took a large mouthful of the liquid.

Crowley grimaced. "That's Glencraig," he said. "It's meant to be savoured, not quaffed like the cheap rotgut Squirrel guzzles."

"Dean!" Castiel reached for his cell phone and thumbed Sam's number. He'd almost forgotten that the whole point of his interactions with Crowley and Rowena had been to cure Dean.

The phone rang only once, before Sam picked up. "Cas! Hey. Are you okay? Are you safe?"

Castiel pondered for a moment. Crowley had helped him to his feet and had brought him here to hell when they'd realised something was wrong. He'd offered him a drink. So far his actions had not been hostile. "Yes," he replied. "I'm okay." It wasn't completely true, yet, but he was healing. No need to burden Sam with details. "How's Dean?"

"The spell worked," Sam said. "The mark’s gone."

Castiel felt a surge of relief, but there was something behind Sam's words, a hesitant niggle. "What's wrong?"

There was a long silence before Sam replied. "Cas, we're headed home. We're both pretty beat. Why don't you meet us at the bunker tonight and we can talk about all this then?"

"Sam..."

"Hey, gotta go." There was a beep and the line went dead. Castiel stared at the phone in silence wondering what was so bad that Sam had to tell hm in person.

"So, I take it the brothers are still alive?" Crowley moved to stand in front of the fire.

"Yes." Castiel looked up. "The mark has been removed." He studied the demon for a moment. "Are you all right?"

"Dandy, no thanks to you."

"Did...did I hurt you? I..."

"Hurt me? You tried to kill me. AND you spewed blood all over my favourite suit!"

"I'm sorry." Castiel meant it. "I would not hurt you willingly, you must know that."

Crowley hummed softly. Pulled the angel blade from a pocket and handed it to Castiel. "This is yours. I considered it prudent to confiscate it briefly."

"Thank you." Castiel was unsure if he was thanking Crowley for returning the blade or for taking it, in the first place. He looked into the demon's eyes. "I'm glad that I failed. To kill you."

"You and me both," Crowley replied.

Castiel stepped closer and raised a hand, hesitating when the demon flinched. "I won't hurt you." He rested his fingers over the livid red marks on Crowley's throat and released a burst of grace to heal them.

Shivering, the demon met his gaze. "You should be using your grace on yourself."

Castiel leaned in and pressed his lips softly against the demon's mouth, lingering for a moment before he pulled back. "I am healing," he said.


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley feels rejuvenated. He's taken a little me time. There is nothing that can not be put right, he thinks, by a Vichy shower, full body scrub, body wrap, massage, and a manicure. To follow that with a lively romp between satin sheets with his angel is just gravy. 

Said angel is lying prone beside him. One arm trails off the side of the bed and Crowley knows perfectly well that the stupid hell hound is on her back on the floor letting Castiel rub her belly. 

"Juliet, out," he commands. "You're supposed to be on guard duty." A disgruntled huff, and the click of claws across the floor mark the hound's retreat.

Crowley manifests a silk bathrobe and a glass of Craig. Shifting position, he wriggles and plumps, and shuffles up the bed until he's reclining against a pile of satin pillows. He glances at the angel, sips his drink. "You called Sam, I noticed. Earlier. Have you and Squirrel had a falling out?"

"Dean is... Out of sorts, lately." Castiel rolls to face him. His skin has healed, mostly. Just one or two reddened patches to show for his near disintegration. Crowley had tried to coax him into joining him on his spa day. The angel declined. Of course. It runs counter to whatever ascetic vibe angels subscribe to.

"Filing for divorce then, are you?"

The angel frowns and sits up. "You drink almost as much as Dean does. It's not good for you."

Crowley raises an eyebrow. It's rare for the angel to switch topics when Dean is under discussion. "I'm undead, love. Not like it can do a lot of harm."

"Our vessels are not invulnerable and I like the one you have."

"It's fine love." Crowley takes another sip of his drink as though it will prove his point. "So, you're going to meet with Moose tonight, find out what the big secret is?"

"Yes. Something is definitely not right on earth."

"And those two are right at the centre of it, I wager," Crowley says.

"Sam and Dean have done much good," Castiel replies, "but they do seem to find their share of problems."

"They don't find problems. They create them."

Castiel reaches for his cell phone on the nightstand and hands it to Crowley.

"What do I need with this?"

"I don't know how to put your number into my contacts. Unpaved crossroads are getting harder to find." As he speaks, Castiel gets off the bed stretching his body and then unfurling his wings to stretch them as well. He looks over his shoulder, preens his fingers through the newly grown flight feathers. "They are growing in well," he says.

"They're beautiful, pet." Crowley half expects to be growled at for the euphemism, but the Angel doesn't seem to have noticed.

"I use them so seldom, now."

"You choose to drive. You could fly if you wanted to."

"It uses grace which I can't afford to spend."

Crowley frowns. "Why don't you try to get to heaven. Couldn't you recharge up there?"

"I'm not welcome. I'd probably be imprisoned by Hannah's guards."

"So, you're telling me that having your own grace back is just as useless as having borrowed grace?"

"No. Having my own grace is much better. Borrowed grace burns out rapidly. My own grace won’t burn out. It's like human blood and tissue. It can regenerate, but I keep using grace. Without access to heaven the process is slower. It could get back to full strength, but it might take months, or even years."

Crowley lets out a breath. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Keep your people out of my way, and let me rest here as often as possible."

It seems tantamount to doing nothing in Crowley's opinion, but he nods his agreement. "All right," he says. Secretly he decides there's nothing stopping him from seeking some way to get the bird into heaven after all.

Castiel starts to get dressed, obviously sparing his grace by doing things the hard way. "I should go and meet with Sam. I'll return as soon as I know anything."

After Castiel has gone, Crowley strides to the door of his chambers and throws it open. "I need a minion," he shouts. A second later, he eyes the specimen that has responded to his summons. "You're promoted," he says. "Get yourself a meat suit more suited to be my PA. I want a full report on what's going on topside. And redouble the efforts to locate the witch, Rowena."

His new PA bows and hurries away to carry out his orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who are reading this and who have left kudos and comments. I love feedback and comments fuel me to write more quickly. Please don't be shy!


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel feels the wrongness as soon as he leaves hell. It strikes him on two different levels. To his vessel, it feels like an impending storm. The air is charged in a way that makes the fine hairs at his nape stand on end. He feels like he has goosebumps all down his arms and legs. His spine tingles. The air feels thick to breathe, uncomfortable. Castiel does not need to breathe, he does it to avoid raising suspicion in other humans. He decides to stop. 

To his angelic form, the world feels as though it has shifted on its axis. It's not the first time he has felt this. The earth does shift from time to time. The most recent being a 6.5 inch shift in the figure axis, caused by the Japan earthquake in the Earth year 2011. Castiel frowns and looks up at the sky. He sees no familiar glimmer of stars, but the sky is not overcast, at least, not in the way he would usually perceive clouds. He double checks that his blade is present in his sleeve and then, lacking his car, uses his wings to take him to the Men of Letters bunker.

Castiel lands in the room he calls the map room. Sam and Dean are in the kitchen, but he is unable to bring himself to land right where they are. A small part of him still doubts that Dean will welcome him. He steps through to the library and listens. Sam is talking in the other room. Something mundane, about pie. Dean replies, saying that Sam has still got to do the dishes. Their conversation seems relaxed, ordinary. It's at odds with recent events, and the off kilter feel of the world, but Sam and Dean are often at odds with their situation. Castiel realises by now that they say more by what they leave unsaid.

Dean says: "I'm gonna look through our DVD collection, find us something to watch." And then his footsteps are approaching and Castiel tenses.

Dean steps into the library. He sees Castiel and stops in the doorway. His face reddens and then drains of all colour. His eyes flicker to meet Castiel's gaze and then shy away. "Cas," he says.

"Hello, Dean."

There is a long, heavy silence. Castiel waits. He is not afraid of silence the way that humans seem to be. He watches Dean. Sees the hunter's hands clench and unclench at his sides. He sees Dean's jaw flex, hears Dean swallow hard. 

"Cas. I..." Dean takes a step forward.

Castiel shifts his stance, lifting his chin. He keeps his hands by his sides, relaxed and yet he is ready to defend himself at a moment's notice.

Dean stops. "Are you all right?"

"I'm healing."

"Good. That...that's good."

"Sam says that the mark is gone."

"Yeah." Dean nods, pulls up his sleeve to bare his right arm. The skin is smooth and clean, no sign of the mark, no scar to show where it has been.

"How do you feel?"

"I'm fine, I guess. I don't know." Dean frowns. He moves to a pull a chair out from the table and sits down. He pushes his fingers into his hair, rubs and scratches at his scalp.

Castiel sits next to Dean. He waits for the hunter to speak. 

"I summoned Death," Dean says. "I was done, Cas. Done fighting, done trying to find a way out. I figured I'd ask Death to kill me."

Castiel frowns, but he doesn't interrupt. He sits, still and quiet. Words fall from Dean's lips in a quiet stream. Dean keeps his hands in his hair. Hiding his face from Castiel's sight. He doesn't make eye contact even once while he speaks. Emotions ebb like tides behind the words. Castiel lives the anguish when Dean tells of how close he came to killing Sam. How it was only at the very last moment he changed the angle of the blow so that the scythe went over Sam's head. He feels Dean's shock when the bolt of plasma pierced the roof of the building, striking his arm and burning away the mark of Cain. 

"We ran for the car, trying to get away. I got the car stuck in a ditch and then that smoke, cloud, whatever it was, hit us and I thought we were dead, for sure." Dean falls silent.

Castiel doesn't speak right away. He sits for a long moment, going back over the story in his mind. Finally, he says. "It was foolish to summon Death. The horseman is not someone to trifle with."

"It was all I could think of to do at the time," Dean replies. "Not that he turned out to be much help anyway. And now he's dead."

"You didn't kill Death, Dean. He cannot die. Death belongs in all planes of existence. You may have damaged that vessel. Perhaps even destroyed it, but Death will return and he is probably very irritated with you."

Dean huffs out a breath. "One more name to add to that list, then."

"What about this darkness?" Castiel had not noticed that Sam has come into the library until he speaks. "Death said that the mark was supposed to keep it locked up. That removing the mark without transferring it to someone else would break the seal or whatever."

"I always thought that the darkness was just a story," Castiel replies. "When I was young, it was told to us as a...like a myth. Something older brothers say to impress their younger siblings." He smiles. "Every time Gabriel told it, it grew more fantastical."

"Well, whatever got loose after the mark was gone is no myth," Dean says. "It damn near shook my car to pieces. It tore through that place like a hurricane...two hurricanes."

"Assuming it is the darkness," Sam says. "What should we do?" He looks at Castiel, expectant.

"I...I don't know." Castiel flinches at the twin looks of shock and disbelief reflected back at him. "The darkness, all of that happened long before I came into being. My brothers, the ones who were there are all dead."

"Not all," says Sam.

"Michael and Lucifer," Castiel murmurs. "Lucifer will know the truth." He stands up. "I will try to speak with him."

Sam nods. "I'm gonna hit the books. Maybe the Men of Letters had some information."

"I will find out as much as I can," Castiel says. He takes to flight, headed back to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N This chapter fiddles around a bit with time. It delves into events that occurred prior to earth history, and outside of ordinary time. I have taken advantage of that and indulged in a little poetic license with the timing of said events relative to when Castiel came to be.
> 
> We know that Castiel has been in existence since very early in earth's history. He was present when Cain slew Abel, for instance. However we don't know how much time passed between the defeat of the darkness and the actual creation. What we do know is that the archangels are older than Castiel, and that Castiel was a child by heavenly standards when Lucifer rebelled against heaven.
> 
> With that in mind, I have opted to have Castiel not yet existant when the war against the darkness took place. I think it works. I hope you do, too.


	6. Chapter 6

Crowley paces in front of the fire in his study. He is furious and there's not a minion in sight to unleash his ire upon. At a riffle of feathered wings, he stops and turns to look at the angel who has just appeared. He takes in Castiel's expression with a glance and growls under his breath.

"So, you obviously know," he says.

"It's the first evil," Castiel replies.

"The bloody primordial bloody darkness!" Crowley resumes his pacing. "Of all the bloody plagues those two could unleash they had to release that one?"

"Technically, they didn't," Castiel says. "If blame is to be apportioned at all, it's more correctly laid on you, me and your mother. We assembled the ingredients and your mother performed the spell."

"My damned mother!" Crowley places both hands on his desk. "I'll bet my throne she knew this would happen, or at least, suspected. Oh, she's smooth. 'It's just a curse,' she said. 'It can be removed.' As if it meant nothing! As if she does that kind of magic every day! So help me, when I find that bitch..."

"Rowena has the book," Castiel says. "Charlie said the book held the means to break or create any curse. If we could get it from Rowena, perhaps the mark can be recreated. If we hold the darkness back just long enough, maybe we could..."

Crowley rounds on the angel, snarling. "Have you utterly lost your pigeon MIND?"

"Do you have any better ideas?" The angel doesn't even flinch from Crowley's rage. Just stands there, head tilted to one side, waiting for an answer.

Crowley growls and turns away, staring into the fire as though the leaping flames will offer him inspiration. "There is no way in hell, or above it that I will consent to work with her! I intend to gut her on sight!" He turns to Castiel. "No making deals with her behind my back. If the mark can be reformed, then someone else will have to do it."

"Do you happen to know any other witches strong enough to entrap the king of hell and a seraph and set one to kill the other?"

"That's precisely why I won't do it."

"Then we need to look for other options. Sam and Dean are searching the men of letters' archives, although some of their books were destroyed by the Stynes." Castiel meets Crowley's eyes, his gaze determined and his jaw set. The demon knows something even more ludicrous than working with Rowena is about to spill from him. "And I need to speak with Lucifer. He was the first bearer of the mark. He must know more about it, and about the darkness."

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" Crowley scowls and shakes his head. "Then again, I suppose you did learn from the best...that would be me, by the way." The angel looks confused, so Crowley spells it out. "Presenting the lesser evil first so it gets turned down. Then you follow up with what you really want." 

"I didn't..."

Crowley huffs out a breath and steps to the sideboard where he pours himself a drink. "I'll allow you a visit with Him. Supervised! I doubt He'll be willing to help you, though. I mean, you're partly to blame for where He is right now."


	7. Chapter 7

Crowley is pretending to sleep.

Standing by the bed, fully clothed and more than a little impatient, Castiel watches the demon feign slumber and contemplates prodding him with an angel blade to get him moving. It has been some time since the demon agreed to let Castiel meet with Lucifer. Of course, Crowley had followed up his compliance with a request for intimacy. After the act, the demon had in fact, let his guard down enough so that he fell into a light doze, but Castiel has sensed Crowley is shamming for at least the last five minutes. It feels like five minutes. It is difficult to tell the passing of time in hell. It might have been closer to half a day on earth. Castiel frowns and steps closer to the bed. It is time to end this charade.

As though sensing his intentions, Crowley stirs, rolls onto his back and stretches luxuriously. He appears to attempt to let every part of his body make sliding contact with the satin sheets. He slits one eye open and takes in Castiel's fully dressed form standing over the bed.

"You're up already?"

"I have work to do."

The demon sighs. "Work." He sits up and smooths a hand over his bed tousled hair. "You really are a dull bird, at times. This is Hell. We're inter-dimensional beings. It's not like we have a deadline!"

"Crowley, I need to speak with my brother!"

"All right, all right. Don't get your feathers in a twist!" Getting off the bed, Crowley pads about the room, muttering under his breath as he gets dressed.

"You don't have to come with me," Castiel says.

"I said you can have a supervised visit. Those are my terms. So, yes, I do have to come with you." Crowley makes a final adjustment to his tie. He slips his feet into a pair of highly polished shoes and walks out of his chambers with Castiel close behind.

Castiel follows on the demon's heels as they make their way through labyrinthine tunnels, always heading in a downwards direction, deeper into the bowels of Hell. He tries, at first, to keep track of the twists and turns, but after a while, he gives up on the effort. 

At last, Crowley pauses as they approach a doorway where two large hell hounds stand guard. Crowley speaks to the hounds, using hand gestures to punctuate his commands "Drop. Stay!"

When the hounds settle onto their bellies, Crowley pushes the door and steps through, gesturing Castiel to follow. They step into a small vestibule. It is lit by torches and opposite the door they came through stands another, identical door. It is secured with a heavy bar. A tall, muscular demon stands by the locked door, and Castiel can sense heavy warding. He waits while Crowley speaks to the guard.

The guard unlocks the door and disappears from view for a few moments. Castiel waits next to Crowley. At some point during the guard's absence, Castiel feels the warding lift. 

"Lucifer may sense any sign of weakness," Castiel says. 

"Then I suggest you don't display any." Crowley spares him a sidelong glance.

"That's not what I meant. I mean that..."

At that moment, the guard returns, cutting off opportunities for conversation. Crowley gestures to Castiel to step through the door.

"Lock the door again once I am inside," Castiel says. He steps into a room much like the one he just left. Torchlit, stone walls, no doors, but at the other side of the room he can make out heavy bars. He moves towards them and then turns to look over his shoulder as the heavy door swings shut behind him. Crowley is inside the door and Castiel frowns. "What? No!"

"I'll stay back," the demon says. He settles by the door, hands clasped in front of him. "I said, supervised," he reminds.

Castiel sighs, resigned and walks over to the bars, peering through them. In the gloom, he cannot see anyone, but he senses a large space on the other side of the bars. Perhaps three times larger than the room he stands in. He uses his grace to feel out the depth and breadth of the 'cage' as it has always been called in any discussion he has heard of it. 

"Lucifer?" Castiel shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Feeling, for the first time since deciding to talk to his fallen brother, that he may be overstepping. He draws a deep breath and waits. He waits for what feels like a long time. Nothing stirs within the cage. He senses the two archangels are there, but still sees nothing. He has just parted his lips to call his brother's name again when a faint glow lights the cage. Castiel realises that there is a dividing wall in the cage and the light emanates from behind it.

"It's not often that anyone calls me by name down here." Lucifer's voice speaks from behind the wall. The light intensifies, and then the entire chamber, including the vault where Castiel stands is lit up like day as the archangel in his unvesseled form comes out and moves towards the bars.

The light is so sudden, and so intense, that Castiel has to close his eyes for a moment. He feels the temperature in the room drop by thirty degrees. 

"Well, look at that, Michael," Lucifer says. "It's a little seraph. In hell, no less!"

"Hello, brother." Castiel forces his eyes open and squares his shoulders. He must stay focused. "I have come to speak with you."

"Why would we be interested in anything you have to say?" Michael has come to stand at Lucifer's shoulder. He still wears Adam Milligan as his vessel. 

"Michael," Castiel leans closer to the bars. "I know the last time we met was...less than ideal. But I..."

"No, Michael. Let him speak," Lucifer glances at Michael and then turns back to Castiel. "It's not like we have anything else to do." He steps closer to the bars, leans in as if to take Castiel into his confidence. "Flaying Michael got old after the first decade. He heals too quickly. It's such a pity you took away our whipping boy. Sam was good entertainment."

"Sam Winchester is not a toy!"

"You're right. He was never a toy. He was much more than that. But I'm sure you haven't come all this way to debate Sam's status."

"There have been...developments on Earth," Castiel says. "The primordial darkness has been released and I need to know how to contain it again. You were the first to bear the mark. Brother, please, tell me what to do!"

"The Darkness has returned?" Lucifer assumes an expression of mock dismay. "What a shame!"

"Lucifer, I need your help. You must know how to defeat it."

"Do you hear that, Michael? He needs my help. How cute!"

Michael laughs. "Brother, you must do something!" He sneers.

Fighting against rising frustration, Castiel looks at Michael. "That is not helpful!"

Lucifer snorts. "He always was the difficult one. So, this darkness, does it blot out the stars, and dim the sun?"

"Yes. You and Michael are the last of the archangels. I know that it took all of you and our Father to defeat it the first time, but I still must try!"

"It was a glorious battle! The very purpose we were designed for." Michael steps forward, his eyes shining. "Lucy was magnificent! Pure light against absolute darkness."

Lucifer waves him off with a dismissive gesture and an expression of feigned embarrassment. "It was one of my finest hours, but I can't take all the credit."

"Brother, I beg you. Please!" Castiel says.

"Well, you do beg very nicely." Lucifer smirks. "But I... Just don't want to help."

Castiel shakes his head. "You were both my idols when I was young. Father's favourites. All of us looked up to you. I may still love you as brothers, but I'm ashamed that I ever wanted to be like you!"

"Are you done?" Lucifer says.

Behind him, Castiel hears Crowley take a step forward. He lets out a breath. "Yes. I'm sorry to have wasted your time."

"You didn't," Lucifer replies. "Time is all we have down here. You have wasted your own, though." The Light Bearer steps back from the bars and mockingly blows Castiel a kiss before he moves behind the wall.

Despairing, Castiel watches his brother leave. This idea had offered some hope, a possible means to subdue The Darkness. To walk away with nothing feels empty, like a defeat. His hopes crushed, the seraph turns towards the door.

"Castiel." Michael speaks his name quietly, little more than a murmur. 

"Michael." Castiel looks over his shoulder. He turns and steps to the bars when Michael gestures him nearer. "I don't have time for more insults."

Michael shakes his head. He glances over his shoulder and then steps closer, his face almost pressing against the bars. "Listen to me. In ancient times, before the prophets, there was another means used to communicate with our Father. If you can find it..."

"Father is not interested in helping us. I've tried to find him, I've prayed..."

"This is all I can offer," Michael says. "It is better than nothing, Castiel."

"What is it. Tell me."

"A jewelled breastplate. It was worn by the high priest in the temple of Solomon. Gabriel will know more about it. It was he who was most often sent with Father's answers."

Castiel shakes his head. "Gabriel is dead."

"No. If he were dead, I, above all our brothers would know it." He takes a gold chain from around his neck. Suspended on it is an amulet. "Take this. It can be used to summon him. He will not fail to respond."

"Michael!" Lucifer calls from the depths of the cage. "Where are you?"

Castiel grasps the chain and slips it into a pocket. "Gabriel is alive? How, where?"

"Never mind that... Just..."

"MICHAEL!"

Michael looks over his shoulder then turns to Castiel. "I must go. Just keep him safe. And... And tell him that I miss him."

Castiel nods. "Thank you," he says, as Michael retreats to the back of the cage.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: I know this is a very short chapter, and really considering it's content, it should have actually been part of the previous chapter, but this is how the muse works, sometimes. I considered adding this to the beginning of the next chapter, but it really doesn't quite fit. So, apologies for the shortness of this!_

"You were right about Lucifer," Castiel says as he and Crowley wend their way back to the demon's chambers.

"Of course I was right." Crowley glances at the angel and shakes his head. "Lucifer only cares about one person."

"Michael believes that God may still want to assist us if we could contact him."

"Hm. The kid always did seem the more optimistic of the pair. He spent the longest time looking for a weakness in the cage."

"Michael is different to Lucifer," Castiel says.

"Oh, yes. He is the mighty general, the righteous sword. He led the assault to rescue the begotten. D'you want to know how many demons died that day?"

"Warriors are lost in battle, Crowley."

"We didn't even want that Christ down here! He walked in of his own volition. He could have walked out again, but for Lucifer and his stupid power games. The next thing we knew, we were up to our necks in avenging Angels."

"Lucifer knows how to push the darkness back, but he will not help."

Castiel changes the subject. Obviously unwilling to be drawn on what, to him is probably ancient history. Crowley stews on that for a moment and then decides to let it go. "So, what now? Call Dad?"

"I need to locate Gabriel."

Crowley raises an eyebrow. "The Trickster? He's one of a very few of your ilk that I ever had time for."

"You and he have a lot in common." Castiel pauses a moment and then. "Will you come with me, to the bunker? I need to check in with Sam and see if he's found anything out about The Darkness."

Crowley hesitates. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. Besides, I have my own fish to fry. Retrieving the demon tablet, garrotting my mother...running hell."

"We need you."

"You might, Kitten. However, recent assistance rendered notwithstanding, I somehow doubt that I'm top of the Winchesters' Christmas card list."

"Please?"

Damn it if the angel is not honing his skills at asking nicely. He even has the puppy eyes thing happening now. Crowley lets out a breath. "Oh. All right, but after this, I demand you give some time and attention to my agenda!"

Castiel smiles. "Of course."


	9. Chapter 9

"Please don't annoy or fight with Sam and Dean," Castiel says as he and Crowley emerge from hell into a gloomy mid afternoon. The sky is darkened, as if viewed through a filtered camera lens. Although the sun still rides high in the sky, the light level seems more akin to early evening.

Crowley is mildly affronted. "Me fight with them? I am the very embodiment of tact and discretion. Tell them not to annoy me!"

"I intend to." Castiel walks to where his car is parked by the curb. "We'll drive. I need to conserve my grace."

"Must we?" Crowley eyes the continental, his face awash with distaste. He catches the wince that Castiel tries hard to hide from him. 

"I'm sorry," the angel says."My lack of power must be very unattractive."

"I didn't mean..." Crowley shakes his head and steps to the angel's side. "Here, let me." He takes hold of Castiel's arm and teleports them both to the bunker. They land in the library, which puzzles Crowley. For a place which is supposedly warded against everything supernatural, it is surprisingly easy for himself and the pigeon to get into. He is still pondering on how they are the exception, when Castiel pulls him into a quick, fierce kiss.

"Thank you," Castiel says and Crowley can only blink at him, shocked into silence by the sudden and uncharacteristic public display of affection.

"Can't you two get a room?" Moose is seated at the library table, a stack of mouldering books in front of him and wearing the kind of face one has after biting into a lemon.

"Hater," Crowley rasps.

Sam mutters something under his breath that sounds like: 'jealous, more likely.' Crowley preens. "Too bad, Castiel chose me." That wins him a look fit to curdle milk.

"Not of you!" The Moose retorts.

"Ah. Incestuous bed death?"

"Shut the hell up, Crowley!" Oh, that hit a nerve. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I'm here because, and _only_ because Castiel asked me to come."

"Well, you can feel free to leave any time."

Crowley scowls. "Fine!" A snap of his fingers and he is gone.

~*~

Castiel frowns. "Sam, that was...uncalled for."

"When did Crowley get so damned sensitive?"

"He has changed, recently. He is less inclined towards tolerance."

"Sorry I upset your boyfriend," Sam says. "What's been happening with you?"

"I spoke with Lucifer. He declined to help."

"No surprise there. Crowley should just get rid of him."

Castiel blinks. "Lucifer is an archangel. Crowley doesn't have the..."

"Lunch!" Dean comes into the library, carrying a plate piled high with sandwiches. He pauses when he sees Castiel. His eyes flicker to the angel's face and then shy away. "Hi, Cas," he says.

"Hello, Dean."

There is a long moment of silence. Dean shuffles his feet and stares at the sandwiches. Sam clears his throat. Castiel looks from one to the other and gradually becomes aware that the silence is growing awkward for the humans. 

"Have you found out anything about The Darkness?" He asks.

Sam shakes his head. "Not a lot. Mostly vague references."

Castiel nods. He slips his hand into his pocket, feeling for the amulet. "I have one more possible lead I can try."

"What is it?" Asks Dean.

Castiel hesitates pondering whether it is wise to tell the brothers that Gabriel is alive. He knows that Sam, in particular, has reason to bear Gabriel a grudge. Granted, it was particularly mischievous of Gabriel to repeatedly kill Dean and make Sam watch his brother die one hundred times over. Then there was the incident wherein Gabriel had trapped the brothers for several days and made them play out various scenarios while he demanded that they accept their roles as Michael and Lucifer's vessels.

Perhaps it would be best to keep the knowledge from them after all.

"Cas?" Dean prompts.

Castiel looks up and meets Dean's eyes. Their gazes lock for a fleeting moment before Dean looks away. Castiel can almost hear Dean thinking that he doesn't deserve Castiel's trust, or friendship.

Pulling the amulet from his pocket, he holds it in his palm. "There is an angel who may be able to help me contact God," he says. The brothers exchange a glance.

"You can't go back to heaven, Cas," Sam says. "It's too dangerous."

"I won't need to. I can summon him with this." Castiel holds up the amulet.

"Does he have a name, this angel?" Dean says.

"His name is Gabriel."

"Gabriel's dead," Sam says.

"Michael says he's not."

"And we should trust _his_ word on it?"

"Sam, Michael is leader of the heavenly hosts, the general of all heaven's armies. If an angel had ceased to exist, he would know."

"Okay, so he's alive." Sam doesn't look happy about it.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Dean asks.

"Are you serious?" Sam scowls at his brother. "Dean, Gabriel killed you, _one hundred times!_ "

"Yeah, and he also saved our asses that time when Lucifer was gonna step into your meat in Indiana!"

"Fine." Sam throws up his hands in exasperation and turns to Castiel. "When are you going to summon him?"

"Soon," Castiel says. "I'll be in touch." He spreads his wings and makes his way back to Crowley.


	10. Chapter 10

Listening to reports can be so stupefyingly boring. Crowley sits on his carved wooden throne, his chin resting in the palm of one hand, eyes half closed as, one by one, demons come before him to report their progress with whichever projects are under their purview.

Listening to reports of failure, is not only boring, but also infuriating. Crowley can tell by the expression of the latest demon to step forward, that it is bringing him bad news. He sits a little straighter on his throne. Adjusts his tie, fixes the demon with his most menacing glare. "What is it?"

"It's your mother, sire."

Crowley presses his lips together in a hard line and lifts his chin. "Why am I seeing you, but I'm not seeing her? Did I not tell you that you were not to return until you found her?"

"I I d-did find her, sire."

"Good. Where is she?" Crowley looks around the throne room as though expecting Rowena to step out of the shadows."

W-well, she's not...here...exactly."

Crowley closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose and grits his teeth. He feels a headache of monumental proportions lurking at the nape of his neck. "Why am I surrounded by incompetence? Where is she...exactly?"

"Um, well, that is to say... She... You see, when I and my assistants found her, she uh, she killed them and she..."

Crowley has heard enough. He gets to his feet and steps into the demon's personal space. "Idiot!" He says between gritted teeth as he plunges an angel blade into the demon's chest. "Anyone else with tales of woe?" He looks around. No one replies. No one will make eye contact. 

He is still waiting for someone to move when Castiel appears in the room.

"Out!" Crowley murmurs and the remaining demons all but stampede for the doors.

Castiel has that slightly constipated look which usually means he's about to ask a stupid question. Crowley steels himself, willing the threatening headache away and offers the angel a mildly interested countenance. Nothing the angel has to say can be as stupid as some of the drivel he's just spent his afternoon listening to. Can it?

"Why did you leave?"

"Because I saw no reason to stand there while that overgrown twat insulted me."

"I need their help. And I need you."

"I won't tolerate it! You told me not to fight with them, yet you'll stand by and let the Moose lay into me."

Castiel sighs. "I still have trouble understanding these interactions. It was just words. There was little anger behind them."

"He was baiting me, trying to draw me into a fight. So I left."

"I have a feeling Sam is more upset with me, now." Castiel pulls the amulet from his pocket, turning it over in his fingers as he studies it from every angle.

"What possible reason has he got to be angry with you? You just helped save his brother!"

"I want to find Gabriel."

"Yes, you mentioned that."

"Sam has history with Gabriel, so he's not pleased by the idea."

Crowley scoffs."Who have those two not got history with?" He moves to a side table to pour himself a much needed drink. "So, what's stopping you? Find your brother."

Castiel frowns at the amulet. "I'm not sure how. This amulet has something to do with it..."

Crowley goes to hm, peering at the amulet and then holds out his hand. "May I?" Castiel hands it to him. The chain is nothing special, apart from being made of highly refined gold. The amulet, though, is a different matter. It is imbued with power, perhaps even a smidgen of angelic grace, it burns a little where it touches his skin. It is made from the same metal as an angel blade and is inscribed with Gabriel's name in angelic script.

"This might seem pedestrian," Crowley says, but have you tried simply calling his name while you hold the amulet?"

"No." Castiel looks at Crowley as though he has just unravelled the mystery of the universe. The angel holds out his hand. "May I?"

"Kitten, your manners are improving by leaps." Crowley gives him the amulet. He can't help thinking of Dorothy clicking her heels and chanting about home as Castiel grips the trinket tight and closes his eyes.

"Gabriel?" 

Crowley looks up and around, expectantly. Nothing.

"Hm. I'd call that a fizzer," he says. "Unless it's the location. I've never known your brothers to enter Hell willingly, except to loot and pillage."

"My brothers do not steal, Crowley."

"You keep believing that, if it makes you feel better."

"We need a different location," Castiel says.

"I've got something that might better suit his tastes." Crowley grips Castiel's arm, and in a wink they land in the living room of a New York penthouse. It is tastefully furnished with modern cubic sofas and mood lighting. Plush carpets, picture windows and modern art on the walls. "It belongs to the literary agent I'm wearing," Crowley says. "Try now."

"Gabriel," Castiel says. "Brother, I need your help." He pauses for several beats, and then. "If you can hear me, Gabriel, please come."

Crowley frowns and then takes the amulet from Castiel. He goes to a side table which is set up as an altar with a silver bowl, a dagger, several candles and a mirror. Opening a drawer, he takes out packets of herbs and begins sprinkling them into the bowl.

"Of course, if he wants to be stubborn," Crowley says. "We can always do this the old fashioned way."

"What are you doing?" Castiel asks as Crowley puts the amulet into the bowl and recites a spell. The contents of the bowl flare into sudden, bright flame.

"OW! That stings!" Gabriel appears, scowling, in the middle of the room.

Crowley smirks at Castiel. "Summoning your brother." Castiel kisses him and for the second time that day, the demon is pleasantly shocked by such a PDA. 

"Ew, gross!" Gabriel says.

"It is not gross," Castiel growls.

"A demon, Cassie? Really?"

"You and Michael?" Castiel counters.

"I heard you the first time, you know," Gabriel mutters.

"Then why didn't you answer?" Castiel says.

"I was busy! I was going to come. You've got Michael's amulet after all. Not like I can ignore that. At least when _he_ uses it, he allows a little time before he burns me!" He shoots Crowley a wounded look and then turns his attention back to Castiel. "So. You got me. What can I do you for?"

"Gabriel, Cain is dead and the darkness has returned."

"I know. I mean, I'm not blind and I don't live under a rock. I was hoping to sit this one out though, you know?" Gabriel sighs. "After the Armageddon fiasco and Luci 'killing' me? I was done. I was finished with family and all the heaven versus hell politics. I retired to Scotland and got myself a quiet little pub. I should have known it couldn't last."

"You're an archangel, Gabriel. You don't get to just disappear."

"I was a dead archangel as far as anyone but Michael knew."

Crowley has wandered away from the two angels, ostensibly watering house plants but he keeps one ear sharply tuned to the conversation. One never knows what handy piece of information might be let slip.

"Gabriel," Castiel says. "You fought the darkness. I need to know how. I need your help."

"It's simple," Gabriel replies. "You need a full complement of archangels, and Dad."

"Raphael is dead. Only you, Michael and Lucifer remain, and our father is missing. The darkness will not only envelop the earth, but every other realm, including heaven and hell, Gabriel. Tell me how to stop it!"

Gabriel raises his hands, palms up. "I don't know what to tell you, kid! That's how we did it."

Castiel slumps onto one of the sofas clasping his hands in front of him and closes his eyes. "What does the breastplate do?"

Crowley cocks an ear at that.

"Breastplate?" Gabriel replies.

"Michael said there was a breastplate that was used in the days before the prophets to communicate with God."

"Oh. That breastplate." Gabriel looks thoughtful. "Maybe Dad would go for that again. A means to communicate without making direct contact. But that thing was lost when the Babylonians destroyed the temple in 586BC."

"Then I must find it." Castiel stands up. "Perhaps Sam can find some mention of it in his books."

"Good luck, kid." Gabriel replies. "If that's all you need, I'll just mosey along back home."

"It's good to see you, Gabriel. I...I'm glad you're not dead. Michael said that he misses you."

"Misses me, huh?" Gabriel looks skeptical.

"I think he might have said more, but Lucifer interrupted."

Gabriel smiles a little wistfully and then shrugs. "Well, anyway, if you find the breastplate, call me." He vanishes.

Crowley turns to look at the angel. "Did you get what you wanted?"

"No. Gabriel doesn't know where the breastplate is. It's lost." 

The angel looks so crestfallen that Crowley considers hugging him. He pushes the impulse aside. "Antiquities are lost and found all the time," he says. "It's just a matter of knowing how to search."

"Do you think you could find it? You found the first blade, and you retrieved a piece of the golden calf..." There were those puppy eyes again.

Crowley sighs. "You'll owe me, Kitten," he says.

"Add it to my tab." Castiel smiles.

Humour, PDA's and good manners all in one day? Crowley shakes his head, bemused. His angel is growing up.


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel is pacing again and it's getting on Crowley's nerves. The angel has been in a flap -and yes that is an intentional pun- since he overheard a demon reporting to Crowley about hard frosts, birds falling dead from the skies and crops withering in the fields from blight. The silly pigeon had insisted he needed to see for himself and was about to take off into the gloom alone. It had taken all of Crowley's considerable powers of persuasion to convince Castiel to watch it on CNN at his New York residence instead.

"Can you please stop?" Crowley says as the angel makes another pass across the hearth. "You're making me dizzy."

From her position sprawled under Crowley's desk, Juliet growls her own complaint. The angel is blocking her access to the rug in front of the fire.

"Your people are not causing these phenomena," Castiel says. "It's escalating."

"Hello? You do recall that the primordial darkness has been set loose?"

"I'm aware of that!" The angle snaps. "I'm just saying it's getting worse." He immediately looks remorseful. "I'm sorry. I just feel so useless."

"You and me both." Crowley goes to his desk and opens a drawer. "But I might have something to cheer you up." 

Castiel frowns. "This is not the time. Besides, we have been intimate once today."

Crowley is going to have to teach his angel that sex is not subject to portion control. He smiles indulgently. "I'm not always angling for sex, Kitten. Only ninety-seven percent of the time." He takes a flat, leather covered case from the drawer and sets in on the desk."Open it."

"What is it?" Castiel peers at the box from his place in front of the fire. He's stopped pacing at least.

"Take a look," Crowley urges. He uses one finger to gently push the box across the desk. He watches as Castiel steps closer and lays one hand on it, looking dubious, as though he expects it to burn, or bite him. Finally, the angel lifts the lid and peers inside.

"Oh." He stares at the velvet lining and the jewels nestled in soft recesses within. There are twelve stones, in various colours of red, amber, green, blue and black. Each stone is engraved with a name of one of the twelve tribes of Israel.

"Your breastplate," Crowley says. "Well, not the breastplate, per se, but the jewels thereof."

"They're actually quite lovely." Castiel pulls his gaze from the stones to look at Crowley. "How did you obtain these?"

"I have connections," Crowley replies.

"Crowley. What did this cost you?" The angel looks adorably concerned. Crowley waves him off with a dismissive gesture.

"Nothing I couldn't afford, love." And nothing he's going to disclose to the angel. Least mentioned, soonest mended.

Castiel runs his fingers over the polished jewels. "Thank you."

"Oh." Crowley reaches into a pocket. "Almost forgot." He produces two more stones. These are flat and rounded like river stones. About the size of a man's palm, they are polished to a high sheen. One of the stones is white and engraved with the word, innocent in Hebrew. It's pair is black and etched with the word, guilty. "These are said to go with the others. I bought them in case they're needed." 

"I know nothing about these, or how they work. Gabriel will understand them." Castiel is still studying and stroking the holy relics, his expression one of mingled wonder and curiosity.

"Now that you've got them, perhaps you can get the artist formerly known as God to step up and take an interest," Crowley says.

Those big blue eyes are fixed on him. "I don't understand?"

"Get your father to do his job? He's supposed to be in charge of the circus that is heaven and earth. He's had his sabbatical. It's time he took a little responsibility."

Castiel nods, returning his attention to the stones. "We need to summon Gabriel," he says.

"You have the amulet." Crowley smirks. "I have a hunch he'll be quicker to answer, this time."

~*~

Castiel pulls the amulet from his pocket and clutches it tightly in his hand. "Gabriel?" He says softly. He pauses a moment, and then adds. "You will be safe here. This is my home." He realises, only as he says it, that this is true. Hell has become the closest thing he has to a home. 

Gabriel appears a moment later dressed in a silk dressing gown and nothing else. He has lipstick stains on his neck and lips. He gathers the robe around himself, looking indignant. "Bro! Timing, seriously," he says.

The heat of a blush floods Castiel's cheeks and he clears his throat. "Uh. Sorry."

"She'll wait," Gabriel says. "What's up?"

"Crowley found these." Castiel holds the box out for Gabriel to inspect it and watches as his brother lifts one of the stones out of its recess, studying it carefully.

"Hey, whaddya know? They're the real McCoy," Gabriel says.

"I trust my sources," Crowley says.

"The breastplate was not with them," Castiel says. "Will they still work?"

"That was just a square of linen," Gabriel replies. "It made wearing them easier, but the stones don't need it to work. There should be two other stones though, the Urim and Thummim. They're flat and shiny and..." He trails off as Crowley offers him the black and white stones. 

Castiel smiles. "Crowley is very resourceful."

"I'm beginning to see the attraction." Gabriel looks the demon over and Crowley preens under the attention. 

Frowning, Castiel reaches for Crowley's hand. "He's mine, Gabriel." He glances at Crowley to find the demon looking at him with an expression of pleased surprise on his face.

"That's me." Gabriel shrugs. "Wanting what I can't have, as usual. Anyway, these will work. All we need now is a church. I guess that's the closest thing we'll find to a temple."

"There's a chapel at the Men of Letters bunker," Castiel replies. "We should go there." He looks at Crowley. "Would you...please?"

"Whoa, brother," Gabriel says, stepping forward. "I don't fly demon air, and neither should you!" 

"Now wait just a bloody minute!" Crowley bristles with indignation. "He's fine flying with me. I've never once steered him wrong!"

Gabriel doesn't spare the demon a glance. He presses the palm of one hand to Castiel's chest. The hand and the angel's chest both glow white for a moment as Gabriel jolts Castiel with a hit of grace. "Here's a recharge."

"Thank you, brother. But you didn't have to," Castiel replies. Crowley will take me. He grips the demon's hand. "If you'll follow us." The pair vanish


	12. Chapter 12

Moose and his brother are sitting in the library when Crowley arrives with Castiel. There's no immediate sign of Gabriel. Crowley decides to take a backseat and tunes out while Castiel exchanges greetings and mundane pleasantries with the Winchesters. He's not going to get into another bitch session with gigantor. 

The archangel appears a few moments later. He's exchanged his silk bathrobe for a pair of faded blue jeans, a T-shirt and khaki jacket. He's sucking on a twizzler. 

"Sorry I'm late," Gabriel says. "Stopped for snacks."

"How did you get in here?" Sam turns to the archangel, scowling.

"Aw look," Gabriel says. "He missed me!" He offers the candy to Sam. "Wanna suck it?"

Crowley presses two fingers against his lips stifling a chuckle as the archangel waggles his eyebrows at Sam suggestively. He remembers why he's always liked the trickster angel.

Moose turns away from Gabriel muttering something that sounds like, "you wish."

Unperturbed, Gabriel shrugs. "Suit yourself," he puts the end of the twizzler between his lips and sucks it with an obscene slurping sound. This time, Crowley does laugh, earning glares from Castiel and both Winchesters, but it is tempered by a wink from the archangel.

Castiel steps in to ease the mounting tension in the room. "We have the breastplate," he says. "We need to use your chapel in order to contact Our Father."

Sam gets to his feet. "It's this way," he says. He leads the way along a hallway and opens a door into the small chapel. 

Crowley hesitates and Castiel turns to him, frowning. 

"I think it prudent if I wait out here," Crowley says. "God and I have a nodding acquaintance, at best." 

Castiel nods. "I understand." He steps into the chapel and closes the door.

~*~

"This should do," Gabriel looks around the chapel and nods his approval. "It's not exactly the temple of Soloman, but, needs must." Castiel watches as his brother walks to the little altar and begins lighting candles. Curious, he moves closer to Gabriel's side. Sam and Dean wait a little way back from the altar.

Once the candles are burning, Gabriel opens the box of jewels and sets it on its side on the altar. Then he lays the Urim and Thummim on the altar cloth between the candles and the jewels. Castiel tips his head to the side quizzically. "How does it work?"

"It's all about refraction," Gabriel replies. "When I pray, if God replies, the candles will flicker. The light will hit these stones." He points to the flattened river stones. "Depending on how it gets refracted from there, it will light up one of the jewels. Then it's up to the one reading the jewels to understand which letter is highlighted. That's where I come in."

Castiel studies the set up and nods gravely. "Yes, that makes sense," he says.

Gabriel turns to Sam and Dean. "We're ready," he says. "Keep your breathing light, and don't move around the room. It creates draughts."

Sam rolls his eyes, but both brothers nod their agreement and Gabriel turns to the altar. 

"Hey, Dad. It's me, Gabriel," he says. 

Castiel bows his head in an attitude of reverence, but he keeps his eyes open.

"So, you probably already know this," Gabriel says, "but we've got some trouble down here. The darkness has got loose and, well, Raphael's dead, Lucifer and Michael are doing time. I'm the only archangel still standing, and we need some way to get it back under lock and key."

"Please, Father," Castiel murmurs.

"I know you've kinda been keeping out of things for a while," Gabriel continues. "But we thought, maybe you could give us a clue. You don't have to show up. Just, you know. Breathe on the candles, like old times." He ends his prayer and everyone waits in breathless silence.

For a long, painful minute, nothing happens. 

Castiel clenches his hands into fists at his sides. All of his hopes have been riding on this and it looks as though his Father is still going to refuse to help. He closes his eyes as despair begins to suffocate him.

Gabriel speaks softly beside him. "T..."

Castiel opens his eyes. The candle flames are dancing in a slight air current which had not been present in the room till now.

"H-E..." Gabriel whispers. He continues to call out letters as the candles flicker and light dances across the Urim and Thummim, bouncing onto the breastplate jewels. This continues for several minutes and then the candles steady and Gabriel smiles. "Thanks, Dad." He turns to Castiel. "The seven powers," he says.

"What does it mean?" Castiel frowns.

"He didn't say. I guess we have to figure that out for ourselves. But hey, at least he answered."

"Yes." Castiel nods. "That is good."

"Now he answers!" Dean steps forward, scowling. "Why now, all of a sudden? He didn't give a crap when your brothers were trying to bring on Armageddon! He was silent when we were fighting the Leviathan. Where the hell was he when I was fighting against the Mark? Why NOW?"

"Dean..." Castiel says placatingly.

"He's got a point," Gabriel says. "Dad could have stepped up before now." He turns to look at Dean. "Maybe he should have, but the fact is, he has now, and that's a good thing. We can stand here debating all night, if you want to. Or we can work with what we've got."

Dean looks sullen, but he backs down. "I guess we've got more research to do," he says gruffly.

Gabriel grins. "Have fun with that," he says. "Be seein' ya!" He vanishes.

"Just like him," Sam mutters.

"Gabriel has been very helpful, Sam." Castiel looks at the younger Winchester reprovingly. "He got Father to answer when no one else has been able to."

"Your brother is an asshole!" Sam snaps. The sharp tone of voice and the hard glare Sam gives him with it, strike Castiel like a dash of ice water to his face. He blinks and steps back a pace, hurt.

"I...uh." Castiel fumbles for words. "'M going," he manages at last. He takes to his wings not thinking of Crowley still waiting in the library.


	13. Chapter 13

Castiel sits staring into the yellow and orange flames of the fire always burning in Crowley’s study. He watches as each tongue of light dances and sways. It brings to mind the tongues of fire that danced above the heads of the disciples after Christ was put to death.

He is comfortable here in these rooms with Crowley. More comfortable than he ever was in heaven. Up there for him and his fellow angels, existence was sterile, emotion was not needed. They watched over the souls that had passed through the gates of heaven but they never got involved or interacted with them in any way.

Here though, in these warm richly furnished rooms Castiel has learned to feel. It's not like it was before, when he was made mortal. It's more intense somehow.

The sounds of screaming have diminished over the months and Castiel knows that that is down to his lover. Crowley has moved his torture chambers further down into the depths of hell so as not to disturb him but if he had only asked, Castiel would have told his lover that those here are here for a reason. They have come to hell because of the evil they harboured in their souls and they have chosen their path. Not every angel would admit this, but he has seen a lot since he pulled Dean Winchester out of Hell. He has seen first hand what humans are capable of when they are not possessed by demons or monsters. It gave him the ability not to look at everything in black and white the way angels usually do.

He thinks about Gabriel making contact with God, and realises that his father would not approve of Crowley. He will not worry about that now. The important thing is that his father is out there. Castiel has to believe that he will still fight for his humans.

He will deal with his father’s wrath when the fight against the darkness is won. If Castiel survives the fighting, that is. Right here right now, though, he will sit and wait for the one who has crept into his sterile heart and filled it with colour and need. The one that refused to let him die, who nursed him back to health and who forgave when Castiel tried to kill him.

He knows the demon has arrived before Crowley is anywhere near the door to the study. The hellhounds are barking and Crowley’s minions are dashing about shouting orders.

The heavy door opens and then closes noisily behind the figure in the Armani suit.

“Here you are, Kitten. You left me with Moose and Squirrel are you ok?”

Castiel looks up and meets his lovers eyes.

“I am now you are here."


	14. Chapter 14

Crowley stands rooted to the spot at an archway that links his study with what used to be a small stone courtyard. He absently scratches at the stubble on his cheek as he surveys what amounts to a subterranean garden. At his side, Juliet squats on her haunches, her mouth open, tongue lolling in a stupid grin while her panting sounds like huffed laughter.

The garden is complete with some form of artificial light, and flowers bloom in a riot of colour. Faintly, behind the sound of a small water feature, Crowley can hear a soft humming.

"Do I hear...has that daft pigeon brought _bees_ into Hell?"

Juliet licks her chops, trying to look serious for a moment, but her tongue soon lolls out again and she resumes her silent laughter.

"This is too much! I said he could rest here. I never told him he could redecorate!" The angel himself, is absent from the scene of his remodelling. No doubt, off babysitting the Winchesters.

Crowley needs a drink. He needs several drinks. "How did I come to be stuck with that overgrown chicken, anyway?" He grumbles as he pours a generous measure of Craig into his glass. He swirls the golden liquid as the hellhound rumbles deep in her chest. Crowley quirks an eyebrow, the incident where he fed grace to the angel coming to mind. "Feeding strays," he murmurs. "Never a wise thing to do."

He takes the whisky to his chair by the fireside and eases himself into the comfort of fine leather upholstery. "He's like this malt," Crowley observes, holding the glass up so that the light of the fire glances through the liquid. "Quite lovely while you're drinking it, but once it's drunk..." He shrugs, takes another sip of his drink. "And then there are the plebs. The pigeon makes them nervous."

Juliet flops down on the hearth rug with a grunt.

"He's one bloody angel, for Hell's sakes. What is he going to do against all the hordes of Hell?"

The hellhound sighs deeply, her dark eyes looking up at Crowley, but she doesn't lift her head from the rug.

Crowley chuckles. "Mind you, there was that one time he got startled and took out that cretin, Jacobs. Was the idiot's own fault. I mean, you don't sneak up on a sick and injured angel unannounced. Isn't that right, pup?"

Juliet cocks an ear at him.

"But planting gardens... And not to mention the place is bloody archangel central these days! I blame the bloody Winchesters. I only had Lucifer to bother with. Now thanks to Moose, there's Michael. And Cas has Gabriel popping in and out as though he owns the place." He muses in silence for a time, his drink clasped loosely in one hand which rests on the arm of the chair while Crowley stares into the fire.

"Perhaps it's time the angel moved on," he murmurs at length. "Trouble is, I've gotten used to those big blue eyes and all that annoying naïveté."

Juliet lifts her head from her paws and then rolls onto her back, offering her belly for rubbing. Crowley bends forward and absently scratches her tummy.

"He's even affected you," he says. "Time was when you'd have gutted someone before you'd expose your underbelly to them." Crowley sighs. "The fact is, pup, I like my malt. I like going back and pouring a glass whenever I want. I like that he can make me forget about the bitching and scheming that goes on out there. If only until the glass is drained, so to speak." Crowley finishes the whisky and sets the tumbler down. "Maybe Rowena was right. Perhaps he _has_ made me soft."

At this, the hellhound gives a sharp bark, and Crowley chuckles. "You just don't want to lose your new BFF," he observes. "You know, the thought of one of those feathered twits dying never bothered me before I got entangled with Castiel. The stubborn ass was just going to lay there and die! No thought to how I felt about it. Not the slightest consideration for my feelings! I practically rammed that stolen grace down his throat."

Juliet sits up, watching Crowley intently as he speaks. She cocks her head to one side and then the other.

"You're right. Completely out of character for me. There was no way I was going to let it happen. It's better somehow, having him here. Don't get me wrong, he can be damned infuriating with his stupid naive questions and his thoroughly misplaced sense of honour, but..."

Crowley lapses silent, staring into the fire for a time, his expression brooding and almost troubled. It is true that things have changed since Castiel has been a feature in his life. Hell has changed. Crowley has changed. His bloody _dog_ has changed. There's a blurring around the edges that never used to be there. A lot of it, Crowley has attributed to the total mindfuck that was being force-fed purified human blood, but a small part of him knows, has always known, that it's because of Castiel's influence. Crowley teases the angel, telling him he's no longer such an angel, but somewhere deep down, Crowley knows that _he_ is also no longer such a demon. That thought rankles and sets off a flare of irritation which drives the king to his feet.

"Dammit! I'm the King of Hell and if I want that stupid pigeon in my life I'll bloody have him!"

Juliet growls and Crowley sends her a baleful glare.

"You talk too much!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: In this chapter, I refer to seven entities which are known in certain religious faiths as Orishas or Loa. I wish to state from the outset, that these entities are real and not drawn from my imagination. Many people believe in and call on these entities for assistance as a part of their belief systems and I wish to state that I have the greatest respect for those beliefs and traditions._
> 
> _I have called the entities, as a group, The Seven Powers but I have also taken a little bit of poetic license with which Loa I have used for the purposes of my story. If you are familiar with The Seven African Powers, you will see that I have changed things up a little. This is not done in any way to be facetious or disrespectful, but is more of a poetic change to suit my story. I have drawn from a mix of the African, and Haitian vodoun traditions for my purposes and hope that the reader will allow me a little leeway. More notes will follow at the end that go into detail about what I changed, for those who are interested to read that._

Watching Sam, Castiel is struck by how tired the hunter looks. He supposes it should not come as a surprise. Humans have a biological need of rest. That is something that Sam allowed himself very little of in the past months as he sought to rid Dean of the mark. Sam is sitting at the library table, hunched over his laptop. There are piles of books scattered across the table which Sam has been using as references while he searches the Internet for information about the seven powers. His shoulders appear tense and Castiel can almost see the knots in the muscles. The hunter's eyes are bloodshot and glassy. There are bags beneath his eyes and his appearance is overall, that of bone weariness. From time to time, he picks up a pen and scratches notes on a pad at his elbow.

Castiel wants to do something. He wants to help, his mind goes over the little that he knows and finds his knowledge wanting. Perhaps he can assist Sam with his research? Perhaps he could take over while the hunter gets some rest? He steps forward, parts his lips to suggest just that when Sam suddenly straightens, throws down his pen and rubs his face with both hands. He scratches his scalp, tousling his hair and then looks up at Castiel.

"Okay. I think I've got it figured out," he says.

"What have you found?" Castiel moves around the table to stand by Sam's shoulder.

"Well, there's a lot of information out there when you start looking for these seven powers. I had to sort through a lot of different view points and opinions. But I think I've narrowed it down to seven African Orishas."

"Orishas," Castiel repeats. "Yes, I believe I have heard that term before. They are lesser gods. Old ones. Perhaps as old as Father, or very nearly, in some cases."

Sam nods. "Yeah. One or two of them definitely date from prebiblical times. Elegua seems pretty ancient. He's usually listed as the primary Orisha. He's described as the king, or guardian of crossroads or gates."

"Who?" Castiel looks at Sam sharply. The king of crossroads. Don't they know exactly who that is?

"Elegua," Sam says.

Castiel frowns. "Wait," he says. " I will return." With a flap, he vanishes and lands moments later in Crowley's chambers in Hell. "You are part of the solution," he blurts.

"Why, hello, Angel." Crowley looks up from his seat by the fire. "Lovely to see you, too."

"Uh...yes." Castiel walks over to Crowley and bends to kiss him quickly. "You are the kng of the crossroads," he says.

"Yes. I still hold that title, amongst others. So?"

"Sam has found something. Seven Orishas. One of them, Elegua, or Papa Legba is the king of the crossroads. That's you."

"I prefer Elegua." The demon looks thoughtful. "It's a title I don't hear often, of late."

"You know it, then?"

"Elegua, Papa Legba, depending on which school of thought you adhere to. Yes, those are names of mine."

"We need to go and speak to Sam. He has more information." Castiel holds his hand out and the demon takes hold of it. "Would you?" 

Crowley huffs a laugh and mojos them back to the bunker.

"So you're tellin' me we hafta team up with Crowley to beat this thing?" Dean has joined Sam in front of the laptop when Castiel and Crowley land in the library.

"It looks that way, and there are six others. Some of them, you're not gonna like any better. One in particular."

"So, I'm guessin' there's no kindly old ladies involved. You know, the type that aren't gonna be looking to gank us in our sleep?" Dean looks up to see Castiel and Crowley standing on the opposite side of the table. "Hey, Cas." He says. He glances at the demon and nods a stiff, silent greeting.

"Squirrel," Crowley rasps. "Oh, look, it's the boy _who lived_." He adds weight to the last two words, as his gaze sweeps over Sam.

Sam ignores the demon and replies to Dean. "Well, there are a couple of females. One is a powerful sorceress, Oya. The men of letters have a note in one of their journals. They thought she might be a witch known as La Catalina, who tormented Don Juan in the sixties."

"So we have Cas's boyfriend and a witch. How much worse can it get?"

"Worse," Sam replies. He glances at his notes. "Dumballah," he reads. "The primordial serpent. Mother-father. Good-evil. Light-darkness. I... Uh, think that's Lucifer?" He glances at Castiel who nods silently."

"This is the gift that just keeps giving," says Dean. "I need a drink." He gets up from the table and heads to the kitchen. "Anyone else?"

Sam and Cas shake their heads. Crowley pulls a flask from his pocket. "Not for me. I brought my own. It's drinkable."

Dean disappears into the kitchen and emerges a few moments later carrying a cold beer. "So we've got Cas's boyfriend, Lucifer, who's just gonna love to see us come begging for help, and a witch who sounds worse than Rowena. We know where Lucifer and Crowley are, but how do we find this witch?"

"My mother's coven is the oldest there is," Crowley says. "They're bound to know about her, and possibly where to find her. And it just so happens, I've got the chief witch up my sleeve."

"Olivette," Castiel murmurs. "But she's..."

"A rodent." Crowley nods and smiles at the angel. "Still, I know the basics of cross species communication. Shouldn't be too hard to talk with her."

"Wait." Dean is looking incredulous. "You're saying your mother's boss is actually a rodent?"

"A hamster, to be precise," Crowley replies. "My mother transmogrified her. They had a little spat."

Dean shakes his head, but doesn't pursue the subject. "Who's next?" He says to Sam.

"Obatalla King of the white cloth. Spirit of the mountains, and high places, keeper of order. The wise judge," Sam says.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Great. It couldn't have been the drive through guy at McDonald's. No, it has to be the spirit of the mountains." He glances at Castiel who is shuffling his feet and looking worried. "What is it?" 

Castiel looks at Sam and sighs. "Keeper of order and wise judge?"

"What? Come on, Cas, spill!" Dean is growing impatient.

Castiel turns to Dean. "The wise judge holds the scales of justice and preserves order in the cosmos. He will weigh souls in the final balance on the day of judgement. That's Michael."

"Well, then, I know where he is, and his older brother," Crowley says. "And I just want to say now that we are well and truly screwed."

Sam palms his face, half inclined to agree with the demon for once:

"Look," Dean says. "We've got Crowley on board. We know where two of the others are and they ain't going anywhere soon. We have a lead on the witch. Crowley and Cas can deal with that. So I suggest we look for the three that we know nothing about."

Sam nods and refers to his notes again. "Okay, so there's this mother of fishes one. Yemaya. And there's Shango it just says he is the ancient kng of Oyo. And the last one is Ogum, the God of iron and machines."

"You are making these up," Dean says "The mother of fish?"

"I swear it's in the book!"

Dean perks up. "Hey, maybe its a mermaid chick! You know, like in Pirates of the Caribbean."

"Yeah, or maybe it's a sea witch, like the one in the little mermaid. With our luck, that's what it'll be."

"OK, so for now you and I will dig up what we can about the fish chick and Cas and Crowley are gonna talk with the hamster." Dean shakes his head. "I cant believe I just said that! Could our lives seriously get any weirder?" 

"Nothing surprises me anymore," Sam says. He closes his laptop and the books he's been referencing. "At least we've got something to work with now." He stands up as Castiel and Crowley depart with a flap of wings. 

"Where do we start?" Dean says.

"Probably a local Vodoun chapter? We need more to go on about these Orishas and how to summon them or whatever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _supplemental Author's note: you don't really need to read this, unless you have a particular interest in Oriishas or African/Vodoun religion and practices. I said that I would explain more about what I did in this chapter that removes my Seven Powers from the strict understanding of The Seven African Powers for those who might be interested._
> 
> _Before I go any further, though. I need to point out that my knowledge on this subject is very small and limited to what I could glean from some brief research when I was planning this story. I am not a practitioner of vodou, nor am I of African descent, and I have not studied these religious traditions in depth. Therefore I am probably very prone to error so my words should be taken as a matter of interest rather than solid fact._
> 
> _The Seven African Powers consists of seven Orishas named_
> 
>  Dumballah/Obatalla  
> Elegua or Papa Legba  
> Oya (also referred to in some circles as La Catalina)  
> Yemaya  
> Shango/Chango  
> Oshun  
> Ogum
> 
>   _In depth descriptions of these entities are not within the scope of this note, but can be found easily on Wikipedia._
> 
>   _For the purposes of my story, I decided not to include Oshun. This was done because I wanted to separate the duality of Dumballah Obatalla (in vodoun lists of Orishas, they are listed as two separate entities) because that fits better with where I want to go with my story._
> 
>   _I did not do this to disrespect Oshun, or To offend anyone. It simply works better for the way my story is going._
> 
> _This is how I have defined the gods for the purposes of my story:_
> 
> Dumballah: Lucifer  
> Obatalla: Michael  
> Elegua, Papa Legba, King of the Crossroads, Primary Orisha: Crowley.  
> Oya (also referred to in some circles as La Catalina) sorceress: Not identified with a S/N character.  
> Yemaya: Mother of Fishes: not identified with a S/N character  
> Shango/Chango: Ancient King of Oyo: not identified with a S/N character  
> Oshun: Not in story.  
> Ogum: God of iron and machines: not identified with a S/N character.
> 
> _I could go on, but I have no wish to bore you. If you read this note, kudos to you for bearing with me! M._


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a reposting of chapter 16. I posted it previously but then I realised there was an entire scene that needed to be added to the beginning, so I took it down and did that.

Dean dumps his phone on the library table and flings himself into a chair with a muttered curse. "Dammit! All he had to do was talk to a stupid hamster. How long can that take? Two weeks, Sam! Two weeks he's been gone and he won't pick up the damn phone!"

"Why don't you call Crowley?" Sam says.

Dean frowns and glances at his phone. It's a reasonable suggestion, and yet he's reluctant to do it. He's tried hard to put his association with Crowley as far behind him as possible.

"Look, I know you've got his number. He was your BFF, right?"

Dean fixes Sam with a baleful glare, but he picks up his phone and thumbs the demon's number.

 _"Dean,"_ the demon's voice is gravelly over the line. _"To what do I owe the interruption?"_

"It's not a social call, Crowley. I want to talk to Cas."

_"Ah. Well that would put you in line behind me. Because I do, too."_

"He's not with you? Where is he?" Dean can almost hear the demon rolling his eyes. He certainly hears the impatient huff of breath before Crowley replies.

_ "If I knew that, I wouldn't be on my second week without a booty call, would I?" _

Dean grimaces. "That's an image I didn't need. Didn't he say where he was going? Didn't you ask? I thought you two were an item."

_"Look, Dean. I'm not Castiel's keeper. My little pigeon's wings have grown back and he's flown himself off somewhere. That, in itself is cause to worry, because for months now, he's relied on me or that monstrosity of a car to get him around."_

In all the time they've known Crowley, Dean has never heard the demon speak the word worry. Certainly not in reference to himself, unless it was part of a threat. He frowns. Crowley is worried. Dean feels a sick little twist in his gut as his own concern for the angel ramps up several notches.

"So are you two going to help me find him?" Crowley's voice is in stereo, from right in front of Dean and echoing over the phone.

"What?" Dean looks up to find the demon standing on the opposite side of the library table.

"You could knock," Sam says.

"You two called me," Crowley says to Sam as if this will explain everything. He turns to Dean. "I've had my people out looking for him for a week with no luck. I thought you might deign to help."

"And just how in hell are we supposed to find him if your demons can't?"

"You've known him longer. You might know some of his haunts that I'm unaware of."

Dean snorts. "Oh, right, because he tells us where he is every minute of every day!"

Sam speaks up, tentatively. "Uh. There might be something I could try," he says.

Dean glances at him. "Like what? We've called him. We've prayed. He doesn't answer."

"Prayer?" Crowley arches a brow. "You two still do that?"

The brothers ignore him and Sam pulls his cell phone from his jeans pocket. "I could call Gabriel."

"You've got his number?" Dean's surprise is genuine. "Since when?"

"Um. He um, he gave it to me a couple weeks ago. Said summoning spells don't always work." Sam is blushing, fiddling with the phone. Dean frowns at him, but before he can say more Crowley leans forward over the table.

"So call him!"

Sam fumbles and almost drops the phone before he manages to thumb the screen and lifts the device to his ear. There is a moment's pause while the call connects and then Sam says. "Yeah, hey. It's me."

Dean watches his brother carefully, wondering just how, and when this exchange of numbers had taken place. He doesn't recall there being an opportunity for Sam and Gabriel to talk privately.

Sam throws Dean a brief glance and a frown, clearly signalling that Dean's steady gaze is annoying him. "Listen, Gabriel, Castiel's missing and I wondered if maybe you'd seen him lately?" A pause as he listens to Gabriel's reply. He glances at Dean, then at Crowley, shaking his head as he switches the phone to speaker mode.

Crowley scowls and shoves his hands into his overcoat pockets. He is the picture of barely checked impatience.

"We're really worried about him," Sam averts his eyes from Crowley. "It's out of character for him not to keep in touch."

"Are you kidding me?" Gabriel scoffs. "That might be your experience, but among his brothers, Cassie's always been a bit of a loner. He's been known to go off on his own for decades at a time." A laugh. "We used to call him the angel of solitude."

Sam sighs. "Right, okay. Thanks anyway. Uh...if you do see him could you tell him we're..." He breaks off as Crowley lunges forward and snatches the phone from his hand. "Hey!"

Crowley ignores him.

"Listen, Trickster! I've only just found my pigeon again, and there's no way I'm going to lose him for decades just because he wants to do some soul searching!"

"What? Oh, it's you."

"Of course it's me. Who else would it be? I'm the only real lover Castiel's ever had."

A second later, with a beat of wings, Gabriel appears in the bunker. He turns to Sam. "You guys really need to update your warding sigils. Seems like just _anyone_ can get in here!" He turns a withering glance on the demon.

"I'd have to concur." Crowley meets Gabriel's glare unflinching and then cocks his head at the archangel. "Got any ideas on where Cas might be?"

"I might," Gabriel replies.

"Right, so take me to him."

Gabriel snorts. "Nope! I am, if nothing else, loyal to my family. Cassie and me? We're close. Confidantes. I won't give his secrets away to anyone. Least of all a demon."

When Crowley steps towards the archangel, threat is written large in every sinew of his body. The archangel holds his ground, chin high, defiant.

Sam stands up."Hey! Take it easy, you two." He looks at Gabriel. "No one's expecting you to break Cas's confidence, but we really need him right now. If you know where he might be. Maybe you could find him? Tell him to come back?"

The demon makes a grudging sound in his throat. Reluctant assent.

"There are a couple places I could look," Gabriel replies. He glances at Crowley. "But if I'm going to help you. I want something n return."

"Naturally." Crowley seems neither surprised, nor aggrieved by the notion. "Name your terms."

"I want to talk to my brothers. Privately."

"Easy enough."

"What?" Dean scowls at the demon. "Are you nuts? You can't be serious."

"I'm always serious when I'm negotiating." Crowley holds Gabriel's gaze. "Anything else?"

The archangel shakes his head no.

"You're still here," Crowley Deadpans.

With a beat of wings and a back draft which nearly knocks the demon off his feet, Gabriel vanishes.

~*~

Castiel stands silent and alone on the summit of mount Karisimbi, Africa. He has come here to think. It is a high vantage point, not the highest he could have found, of course, but a place he has favoured in the past. He can't really say why. Perhaps it is the name of the place. Karisimbi. It has a certain musicality which appeals to him. Its name means snow.

The world still feels wrong. Off kilter. The sun's light diminished. There is snow here on Karisimbi at the wrong time of the year. Castiel has kept track of the human news. He knows there are reports of unseasonal cold snaps in parts of the world where it should be warm. There are blizzards in the tropics. Snow where it has never fallen before, and those areas where it is winter have suffered the worst snowstorms of all. Castiel thinks that another ice age is coming. 

The humans speak only of the climate, the seas. They don't mention the other problems. It was the bees that caused Castiel to realise what part of the wrong feeling was. He'd known something was different. Yet, it wasn't until he noticed a bee, obviously confused, trying to locate the center of a flower, that it became clear to him. There is no ultra violet light.

The realisation frightened him. How has he not understood this from the start? It must be because he has been accustomed to limitation. That is the only way he can explain it. Being without his grace. Living on borrowed grace has limited him for so long that he was used to his reduced vision.

Even now, with his own grace restored, he is limited. He looks up, his gaze searching the sky. He cannot see the way he should be able to. He draws a breath and lets it out, slowly. What use is he to anyone?

_Without your powers, you're basically just a baby in a trench coat._

Dean's words, spoken when they were hunting Eve. Perhaps, back then, that was true, even if it was hurtful. Since then, Castiel has learned to hunt, to shoot, to drive a car. He can fight and do basic research. He's learned much through having to survive as a human.  
  
It's not like he is completely powerless. He has regrown his wings. He can fly. He can smite. Yet he feels lacking. He is responsible for helping to unleash the Darkness upon the world and he feels unequal to the task of recapturing it.

There is a beat of wings behind him. The snow at his feet kicks up in little flurries from the draft they create. Castiel does not need to turn to know who has joined him. He doesn't speak. He flares his own wings in acknowledgement of his brother, but he continues to stare up at the sky.

"This a private pity party or can anyone join in?" Gabriel says.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some graphic depictions of violence in it. Not against any major character, but it is there, so be warned.

"It's not a party," Castiel replies. "As I understand it, you need more than two people for a proper celebration."

Gabriel sighs and rolls his eyes. Metatron might have given Cassie an upgrade on his pop culture, but the seraph still lacks a little in the social graces department. He moves to stand at his brother's side. "Whatcha doin' up here, Cassie? Your friends are looking for you. There's a certain demon willing to cut all kinds of deals in order to find you, you know?"

Castiel shoots him a sidelong glance and then turns his attention to the rolling plains of Africa again. "I came here to think," he says. "And, if you don't mind, I'm not really in the mood for company."

"Well, it's your lucky day, because I'm not company, I'm your annoying older brother, and your mentor, so you're stuck with me." Gabriel grins and slips an arm around the seraph's shoulders. "What's on your mind, kid?"

"Gabriel..."

"Castiel..." The archangel mimics the tone and inflection perfectly and draws a reluctant smile from the seraph's lips. "C'mon, spill."

"Don't you feel what's happening? Don't you sense how wrong everything is. The sun, the light spectrum. Everything is...."

"Well, yeah. I've only been in Scotland. I mean, sure it's a bit out of the way, but I haven't exactly been living under a rock. It's the darkness, Cassie. It probably feels worse to you, because you haven't encountered it before. To me, it's the same as it was before Dad brought the light into being and we forced the darkness back. It's different. Not 'wrong' per se."

Castiel sighs. "But it's taking over. It's blotting out the sun, it's moving over the earth and casting shadows. How are we going to defeat it? It...it feels too big."

"I thought you had a plan," Gabriel replies. "Isn't that the whole reason why you got me involved? Talking to Dad, asking him for help...and he did help, Cassie."

"It's a plan that depends on too much that we can't control. Crowley...Elegua has agreed to help, but we are reliant on Michael and Lucifer, and a whole group of other deities we don't know. Our brothers have already declined to help once. I can't see how to persuade them."

"That was when you asked them," Gabriel says. "I got your demon to agree to let me talk to them, if I bring you home, that is. Maybe they'll listen to me where they wouldn't give you a hearing."

Castiel turns to him. "Crowley would let you speak with them?" He looks a little surprised. "Is that even a good idea? The last time you and Lucifer met, he tried to destroy you."

Gabriel chuckles. "Yeah, good old Luci, always the joker of the family. Until I took over that is." He smiles at his brother. "I think I can handle him. After all, he only _thinks_ he killed me, right? I'm still here. I learned some of my best tricks from Luci, but I learned even better ones when I decided to walk the Earth for a few millennia. Come back with me, Cassie. I know you feel overwhelmed by this." He waves a hand, taking in the mountain, the plains, and including the darkness in his gesture. "But standing on the top of a mountain brooding isn't going to accomplish anything. I'll get our brothers to cooperate, somehow, and we can work on the Orishas after that. It's better than just sitting still and waiting for the darkness to swallow everything, right?"

Castiel considers for a moment, and then looks out at the vista spread before him. "I have always loved this place. This planet. These humans. I don't want to see them destroyed," he says quietly. He squares his shoulders and flexes his wings. "I will fight for them."

With a rush of wind and the beat of mighty pinions, the two angelic beings vanish from the mountain top.

~*~

Crowley paces through one of the lower circles of hell. It's not a place he visits often these days. He has minions to carry out the work that goes on down here. His time is better spent higher up the food chain. Still, there is nothing like a spot inspection when he is in the kind of mood he's in today. As he walks, lesser demons kowtow and fawn to him. He finds it ingratiatingly annoying. He's unused to such mixed feelings and he snaps one or two of them into ash, just to rid himself of the irksome sensation. He never could stand brown nosers, but he seems to be surrounded by them in hell these days. He wishes for former times, and demons of Meg's ilk. There was a feisty bitch if ever one lived. Perhaps he'd been hasty in dispatching her so summarily. Oh well, crying, milk, and all of that crap never get anything done.

Screams and moans of torment rend the air as he crosses a threshold into a red-lit chamber where human souls are pinned and strapped to various implements of torture. Here are the racks, the tables, the iron maidens of Crowley's demonic youth. He smiles, listening to the pleasing ambience. This is what he needs. He walks over to a rack where the soul of a young woman writhes and pulls against her bonds. The attendant demon bows and scrapes and Crowley snarls at it, sending it scuttling into the shadows. 

The king turns his attention to the woman. He smiles, a charming flash of even white teeth in his handsome face. "Hello, sweetheart. Comfy?" Absently, he picks up a knife and twirls it in his fingers. "You really should feel privileged. It's not everyone who gets a personal visit from the king himself." As he speaks, he almost gently slips the sharp blade into her body, where the liver would be located in human flesh. He twists it and watches her arch and scream. "Lovely." Another smile. "You really do that quite well." He pulls the serrated blade out and casually drives it between her ribs, plunging it into the area of the heart. "I don't usually dirty my hands, love, but I just felt the need today. Stressful week, boyfriend's out of town... You understand." He slices open her belly. 

The woman sobs and begs almost incoherently, pleading to be let go, for the pain to stop. Crowley gives her a pitying smile. 

"I see potential in you," he says. "In fact, I think I'll have you moved into the advanced placement stream. Some of my best and brightest have come through there. You might make another Meg. Lucifer knows, I need some new talent around here." He lays aside the knife and wipes his bloodied hands in the woman's hair. "Tarrah, love. Good chat." Crowley slips his hands into the pockets of his coat and strolls out of the chamber headed back towards his study. He has let off a little of the tension, and it is a slight relief. Now, if only his angel would come back, he might be able to scratch the nagging itch properly.


	18. Chapter 18

Crowley knows that the angel has returned to hell. There are two things that tell him so. Firstly, he can sense the angel's presence, and if that were not enough to clue him in, then the attitude of minions in the vicinity of the king's personal chambers would have alerted him. They're skulking and cringing even more than usual.

Pausing at the threshold of his private domain, Crowley brushes invisible lint from the sleeves of his jacket. He inspects his neatly manicured nails for traces of blood from his torture victim. His features settle into an ill-natured scowl as he squares his shoulders before stepping through the doorway.

The angel is there, sure enough. Perched in the leather wing-back chair by the fire. He's holding an empty glass in one hand. The audacity of it, helping itself to Crowley's fine malt as though it owns the place. The king's scowl deepens. He doesn't speak to the angel. He goes to the side table and pours himself a double. He tosses the drink back in one gulp. Hardly the kind of respect such a fine whiskey deserves, but he doesn't trust himself to speak, or even to look at Castiel. He sets the glass down, refills it.

"May I have another?"

Oh, _now_ he asks permission. Crowley pretends he hasn't heard the request. Silence.

"I'm sorry," Castiel says at length. "I needed some time to think."

Crowley turns and paces towards the fireside, his eyes fixed on Castiel's face. "You needed time to think. So, what? You just take off without so much as a word? You vanish into thin air, not even a fucking text message for _two weeks_!"

"I had no concept of the time. I tried to pray but..." Castiel trails off shaking his head as Crowley speaks over him.

"Meanwhile, Lucifer knows what is flying around out there devouring whole chunks of the spectrum and you NEEDED TIME TO THINK!"

"I thought my father might help." Castiel says. "He didn't answer."

"He's already helped!" Crowley takes a large gulp of whiskey. "He answered Gabriel's prayer, he told us about the Orishas! You were there, Castiel. Didn't any of that sink into that twitterpated skull of yours?"

Castiel merely sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Crowley seizes him by the arms, shaking him.

"I couldn't find you! My people couldn't find you! I couldn't even _sense_ you, anywhere! You might have been _dead_ , for all I knew!"

"I was perfectly safe." The angel frowns at him, consternation writ large on his features.

It's too much. Crowley shoves him away, hard. "FUCK YOU!"

Castiel stumbles backwards several paces, only barely keeping his feet. For an instant, grace flares in his eyes, ice blue and he growls as he catches his balance. Crowley is instantly on the defensive. As quickly as the righteous wrath appears, it is gone and the angel lets out a breath. "I'm sorry." He sounds sincere. "I should have apprised you of my plans."

"Really?" Crowley drains his glass and turns to refill it at the sideboard. "You figure this out, now?" He glances over his shoulder to find the angel frowning, with that inward turned, constipated expression he wears when he's listening to angel radio. "Oh, wonderful, the mothership," he mutters and then starts forward as Castiel suddenly clutches at his temples and collapses to the floor with a cry of pain.

"Cas?" Crowley hunkers down next to the prone form. The angel is out cold, switched off like a light. "Castiel!" The demon shakes him but gets no response. He frowns and rolls the angel onto his back, reeling backwards a little as a trickle of blood rolls from under Castiel's eyelids. "Bollocks!"

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N This story will, from this point on, or at least, very soon, split off from Season 11 and become an AU. I hope my readers will want to follow wherever my fickle muse intends to lead me.

Pain is the first thing he becomes aware of. An achingly familiar sensation, like, and yet unlike that which had assailed him under the effects of Rowena's bestiarum hex. He smothers a groan, holding as still as he can, eyes closed as he mentally assesses his vessel. His body feels hot and clammy at the same time. Fever. He'd experienced that when he was without his grace and at death's door. There is nausea, too and for a lurching, panicked moment he fears his grace is gone. Castiel whimpers as the vertiginous sensation washes over him. He draws a deep breath consciously reigning in the frantic terror. He can feel his grace. The relief is almost as unsettling as the panic had been.

Apart from the pounding ache in his head and the sick, feverish sensation, he seems unharmed. Castiel ventures to open his eyes. He gazes upon pitch darkness. He frowns. He senses he is within an enclosed space. Not small. A solid surface is beneath him and walls suround him. He senses a high, solid ceiling. He slowly gets to his feet, extending his arms to the sides, feeling with his fingertips whether he can touch the walls. He cannot. He closes his eyes, disoriented. Dizziness makes his head swim and the throbbing in his temples intensifies. He gags, emits a soft moan.

"I hurt you," a familiar voice speaks somewhere in the dark. "It is regrettable, but it was necessary in order to break through to you."

"Michael?"

"It is I, brother."

"Am I blind?" Castiel brings his hands to his face, gently touching his eyelids. He cannot see his own fingers. "Is it dark here? Why can I not see?"

There are footfalls somewhere to his left, approaching. Castiel fights the urge to back away. He is unsure of Michael's motives and he is vulnerable without the sense of sight. Although Angels have other well defined senses, sight is predominant. He flinches as thumbs press against his closed eyes, but there is no pain. A cool sensation Castiel recognizes as healing grace and then Michael says softly, "Open your eyes."

He does so, and is relieved to discern his brother's face, close to his own. The surroundings are dimly lit, only just enough to see by. Castiel glances around, taking stock of his location. "Are we in the cage?"

"We are within your mind, brother. You see a representation of the cage, perhaps. I had little else to draw on. Castiel, we do not have much time. I come in answer to your prayers. I do not know how long I can sustain the dream for."

"My prayers? You heard them?" Castiel frowns, confused. "But I thought you had no wish to help...When I spoke with you…"

"You have not spoken with me before now. Castiel, you are deceived."

"I don't understand. Deceived, how?"

"You have been deluded. Nothing that you believe has happened is real." Michael places his hands on Castiel's shoulders. "You must hear me, brother. I have tried to warn you, to warn anyone that will listen, that the darkness has been unleashed. That it has altered reality."

"I know that the darkness is free." Castiel frowns. "I'm trying to find a way to recapture it. Gabriel made contact with our father and we …"

"No. None of that is real! The darkness has ensnared you."

"Explain." Castiel meets and holds his brother's gaze.

Releasing Castiel's shoulders, the Archangel turns and takes a few paces away from him. "The darkness is chaos," he says. "At the beginning, when all was formless and void, the darkness reigned in tumult and confusion." He turns to look at Castiel. "Our Father brought order and drove the darkness back."

  
"Yes," Castiel says. "I know the story of the beginning. "Father and the archangels battled the darkness and overcame it. It was locked away and Lucifer bore the mark that would contain it."

"That is a part of the story." Michael returns to stand in front of Castiel. "There were many who assisted in driving the darkness into oblivion."

"The Orishas."

Michael shakes his head. "Only Olodumare was involved in the beginning. The other Orishas have their dominions, but they did not help to defeat the darkness."

Castiel frowns. "I have not heard of this Olodumare."

"He is seldom mentioned," Michael replies. "He has left the earthly plane to rest, since he is very old. No one bothers him anymore except on very important business."

"If what you say is true, our search for the Orishas is in vain," Castiel says.

"It is a ruse to delay and delude you." Michael meets Castiel's eyes. "I have been trying to reach you since the darkness was unleashed, but the darkness itself opposed me. It was only when you prayed for assistance that I was able to prevail. Even then, the darkness delayed me several days."

"How do I know any of this is true?"

"Think, Castiel. What has been your one feeling since the start of all this?"

"It…" Castiel frowns. "It feels...wrong."

"Yes. You have on some level sensed that the events you witnessed were awry."

"How can I be sure?" Castiel wavers. He wants to believe his brother, and yet, nothing feels certain.

"Faith, Castiel." Michael looks into his eyes. "If you cannot believe in my word, then, trust your own instincts."

Castiel ponders for a moment. He cannot deny that he has felt the overshadowing sense of wrongness for the entire time he and Crowley and the Winchesters have worked to thwart the darkness. But if those events are untrue, what is to say that this dream is even real? He recalls a time when he would never have doubted his own intuition, but so much has happened since then. He has lived through many situations that taught him he can err.

Yet, he prayed for assistance on the top of Mount Karisimbi. Michael claims to come in answer to those prayers. He looks into his brother's eyes, deciding to trust to faith.

"What should I do?"

Michael lifts a hand, pressing two fingers to Castiel's forehead. "Oh, sleeper, awake," he says.

Castiel feels the world begin to spin around him. A moment later, he is hurled off his feet and sent spinning through space and time to land, awake, and screaming in agony in a place he has never seen before.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the events of 11:02.

**In the 1st reality**

"We've been looking for this Yemaya chick for over a week now." Dean glances at Sam, scowling. "Every lead we've had has drawn a blank. I'm startin' to think this hag either doesn't exist, or she just don't wanna be found."

"You know, I think you could probably speak about her with more respect," Sam says. "All the lore I've read on the Orishas says they're very particular about respect. Maybe if you tried a little harder, we might have better success."

"If she'd show her face, I'd happily respect the hell out…"

"Hullo, boys." Crowley appears, beaming, sitting in the middle of the Impala's backseat, causing Dean to jerk the wheel, sending the car swerving across the centre line on the highway.

"Dammit, can't you warn a person when you're going to appear? Ring a goddamned bell or somethin'."

Crowley snorts. "That would take all the fun out of it."

Sam keeps quiet, casting an uneasy glance at the demon over his shoulder. 

"What d'you want?" Dean's scowl is etched even deeper on his forehead. He shoots Crowley a baleful glare via the rearview mirror.

"Always lovely to see you, too, sweetheart," Crowley quips. "Castiel's back."

Sam half turns in the passenger seat at that. "When?"

"Were you planning to tell us this?" Dean speaks at the same moment.

"I was under the impression that I just did," Crowley says. "Not that the bird is a blind bit of use to us. He had some kind of swooning fit. He's out for the count."

"Was he hurt?" Sam is frowning, concerned.

"Not that I noticed. He seemed to get a call from the mother ship, then he grabbed his head and collapsed. Nothing I've done has brought him around."

"Did he say anything before he passed out," Dean asks. 

"He said he went away to think and pray. Something about asking his father for help. Seemed a bit redundant, seeing as we'd already heard from the big kahuna." Crowley shrugs. "I didn't get much more than that out of him before he fell at my feet. Not that I mind people falling at my feet, but it's nicer when they're conscious and grovelling."

Dean lets out a breath. "Great."

"Maybe it's the spell," Sam says. "I mean, he seemed okay, but magic can have lingering after effects. Maybe he wasn't completely out of Rowena's influence yet. Maybe…"

"Yes, well. We could indulge in conjecture all day," Crowley interrupts. "I sent for the witch that lifted the immobilization spell from me. She might be able to help the pigeon too. Just thought I should let you two know. So… cheery bye."

"Wait!" Sam half lunges across the back of the seat, and Dean shoots him a scowl. 

"Dude, the upholstery."

Sam shakes his head at Dean, returning his attention to the demon. "You're an Orisha," he says. "You must know where the other Orishas hang out. We need your help finding Yemaya."

"I'm a gatekeeper," Crowley replies. "I make sure paths that should be open are open. I make sure those that shouldn't be aren't. End of my purview. I know nothing of where the others spend their time. Yemaya…" He seems to ponder for a moment. "You should try around large bodies of water."

"Oh, that's a big help!" Dean sneers. 

Crowley ignores him, looking at Sam. "As I recall, she likes white roses, or any white flower. Always by sevens, and you could offer her seven coins. Maybe she'll deign to speak to you." He vanishes.

"Typical chick," Dean says. "Flowers and money."

"It's something," Sam says. "So where's the next largest body of water?"

~*~  
**In the 2nd reality**

Fear is a foreign concept to angels. It does not form a part of their DNA. Angels are 'programmed' for want of a better word, to serve God, to fight in the heavenly armies, strong and unflinching. To give their very lives, if need be in defense of the Kingdom of Heaven. There is no room for fear within those parameters.

Fear is something that Castiel has learned. He has learned to fear rejection. He has been rejected by Dean Winchester. He fears that occurring again. He has learned to fear pain. Another concept that had been foreign to him until he became mortal after Metatron stole his grace.

And now, at last, he has learned to fear his angelic siblings.

In retrospect, he realizes it was foolhardy to call on them for help. He should have known better, but old habits die hard. He has escaped with his life, at least. Though it was at the cost of three others. He wants to mourn Hannah. Still cannot believe that she, of all angels could have turned against him, however briefly.

So here he is, alone again, in this 'other' reality that Michael sent him to. He burns with the fever caused by the bestiarum hex. He'd thought himself free of that weeks ago, but that must have been a part of the deception forged by the darkness. Hot and chilled by turns, he stumbles, alone and afraid, through the darkness. 

He's running scared. Alone. Lost. He can think of only one place that would make him feel safe. He takes flight, his strength almost failing him.

"You've got a bloody nerve! Showing your face here!" The king of hell greets Castiel with unveiled fury. His defenses well and truly up. To the point that he confronts the angel with upraised angel blade and slams him into a wall with magic.

"I had nowhere else to go," Castiel says. He slumps against the wall, pressing one hand to his ribs. He suspects one of them fractured with the impact. "Please."

"Please," the demon sing-songs back at him. "Fat lot of good pleading did me when you went rabid and tried to KILL ME!"

"That...wasn't me," Castiel says. "The spell." He doubles over, groaning, as even now, dark magic stirs in his guts churning into a murderous fury. Perhaps it was a mistake to come here. He knows--remembers--somehow, that in this reality he did indeed try to kill the demon. Flashbacks of the moment tormented him after he escaped from Efram and Jonah. No, after he _killed_ Efram and Jonah, showed him that he had stabbed Crowley. He closes his eyes.

"I didn't wish to harm you," Castiel says between gritted teeth. "I cannot harm you." He lifts his head, looking at Crowley through a red haze.

"You won't get another opportunity," the demon growls. He raises his angel sword and lunges.

"No!" Castiel closes his eyes and takes wing.

Sam and Dean find him, hours later. Chilled, feverish. He lies on the cold floor of the bunker half hidden by piles of gasoline soaked books.

"Cas?" Dean gently lays a hand on his arm and speaks his name. 

Castiel weakly raises his head, struggling to see Dean through blood-filled eyes. "Help me."


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!!!! This chapter contains a scene which skates very close to the edge of non-con it is mild, but it is there, so be warned. If you're likely to be triggered you might want to skip that scene.
> 
> Takes place immediately after 11:03

**The 1st Reality**

 

When Crowley feels helpless, minions die. They know this, of course and all of them are keeping well away from the King's private chambers. The last one that blundered in with some piffling inanity, lies in a pool of blood and varying states of dismemberment on the rug.

At the foot of Castiel's bed, Juliet sprawls on the floor, gnawing on a leg bone that belonged to said minion. The king has chewed his usually well manicured nails down to the quick. He divides his time between staring pensively into the fire, and glancing at the unconscious angel in the large four poster bed.

Juliet lifts her head and wuffs at him. Crowley turns a jaundiced eye to the hound, noting her gore covered jowls, but lacking the energy to chide her for the mess she's making on the rug. He sighs and shakes his head. The hound lumbers to her feet and comes to nudge at his hand with her bloodied muzzle. He absently fondles her ears, but says nothing and after a moment the hell hound moves to the side of the bed, licking the angel's hand where it lays still and pale against the comforter.

"He won't waken, pet," Crowley says. "It's no good trying. I've shaken him, kissed him, I've even tried slapping him and got nothing more than whimpers and moans out of him." He pauses. "At least he's quieter now." The angel's screams and cries for mercy quieted a couple of hours-days-weeks-who's counting ago, and he has lain as still as death since.

The hound growls and paces to the door of the chambers, snarling and then looks over her shoulder at Crowley.

"I _would_ do something, if I knew _what_ to do!" the king says.

Crowley's cell phone rings for something like the twentieth time that hour, and he glances at the screen, scowling at the name flashing at him. He rolls his eyes and picks it up. "Moose."

"Is there any change?" tall dark and annoying asks over the line.

"Not much. He's quieted down a bit," Crowley replies and then quickly switches subjects. "How did your tete-a-tete with Yemaya go?"

"We haven't found her yet," Sam says. "What about the witch you said was coming? Couldn't she do anything? She helped you."

"She couldn't lift the spell. She mumbled some garbage about him being out of her reach."

"Out of her reach? What's that mean?"

"Damned if I know. I didn't pause to ask before I gutted her."  He can almost hear Gigantor's wince over the line, and it gives him a dull sense of satisfaction.

"Then we find your mother," Sam grunts.

"We?" Crowley scoffs. "If you think I'm leaving his side to go traipsing around the countryside looking for that Bessie*, you can think again."

"We need Castiel, Crowley!"

"Well, since he's indisposed, you're going to have to manage without him."

"Dean and I will find Rowena," the hunter growls before he ends the call.

Crowley sets the phone down on the table beside his chair. "Not if my minions find her first." His attention is drawn by a rustle of movement from the bed, and a low, warning growl from Juliet. He looks at Castiel, and then rushes to the bedside as the angel is shaken by a sudden, strong seizure.

 

~*~

 

**The 2nd Reality**

 

Tired. Castiel is fatigued beyond anything he's felt before, not even when he was human, had he really felt this bone weary. Or, perhaps he had, and he just doesn't remember clearly. After all, he was close to death when he was living on borrowed grace. He wonders, idly, if that is a human trait, the blurring of memories of hard times. It seems merciful to him. Angels remember everything. Sharp, crystalline memories that can be called to the front of the mind whenever necessary. Castiel frowns. At least, most angels can. Not him, though. Not since Naomi tampered with his mind. Still, perhaps it is a good thing. The not remembering. Perhaps, if that is how things will be from now on, then someday he will not recall the sharp pangs of guilt he feels now.

He almost killed a girl. He was going to beat Dean to death. Castiel closes his eyes as remorse stabs him; a bright blade of shame twisting in his heart. It hurts more, because Dean won't allow Castiel to heal him. Dean believes somehow, that he deserved the blows Castiel rained on him.

The spell is gone. He's more or less in his right mind. But the guilt nags on him and wears him down. He needs to do something. He can't bear this idleness. He needs answers, and he knows of one place that he may find some. Castiel stands up. He glances towards the bedrooms where Sam sleeps, and Dean, he senses is awake, hurting, and trying to drown the pain in Whiskey.

He frowns and spreads his wings. He takes flight.

 

 

Castiel knows he is not welcome here, but he shrugs that thought aside and goes in search of the King of Hell. At least, in this reality, the layout of Hell's labyrinthine hallways is the same. He finds his way to the throne room, and then to the king's chambers without too much trouble. One or two demons lie dead in his wake. Collateral damage. He drops his angel blade into his right hand, and lets himself into Crowley's study.

The king doesn't seem surprised to see him. He's standing by the fire, a glass of Craig in one hand. He quirks an eyebrow at Castiel and narrows his eyes. "You're a bigger idiot than I took you for," he rasps.

"We need to talk," Castiel replies. He walks towards the demon, moving right into Crowley's personal space. The demon tips his head to one side, his expression one of idle curiosity.

"Can't think of anything we'd have to say to one another," he says. "Oh, unless you've come to apologize." He chuckles. "Which I find highly doubtful."

"No." Castiel stops in front of the demon, his blade still held loosely by his side. "I was not in control of my actions." He meets Crowley's eyes. "Are you Elegua?"

Dark eyes kindle with renewed interest, and something coldly calculating as the demon holds his gaze. "What gives you that idea?"

"Answer me!"

Crowley snarls. He grabs hold of Castiel's right wrist, deftly twisting it, pushing his fingers hard into the nerve point between the radius and ulna. Castiel cries out and the angel blade slips from his weakened grasp.

"Don't presume to come into _my_ domain giving orders and throwing your weight around, pigeon!" He twists Castiel's arm up behind his back, grabs the angel by the nape of his neck and slams him forward over the desk. Castiel groans in pain as his face is smacked into the hard wooden surface. He struggles, trying to shrug Crowley off, but he is pinned in place.

"You arrogant little snot-nosed prat!" Crowley growls against his ear. "I ought to feed you your own bollocks!"

His breath is hot against Castiel's cheek, and the angel cannot suppress a shudder. Whether it is of revulsion at the thought of being castrated, or something more primal, Castiel can't quite tell. He grunts with effort, attempting to throw Crowley off. "Let me go, Demon!"

Crowley only leans on him all the harder. "What was that, hmm?" He hisses in the angels ear. "You shivered. Like a bit of rough, do you?"

"No!"

"Liar. I'm somewhat of an expert on lust, darling. You holier-than-thou feather dusters are just as capable of lechery as the rest of us."

Castiel tenses as the demon reaches between his legs, groping at the angel's cock through his pants. He closes his eyes, willing himself not to respond, but his member has other ideas and swells to the rough handling. Castiel growls his frustration and feels a flush of humiliation rise into his cheeks when the demon laughs at him.

With a snap of fingers, Castiel is naked, his ass turned up to the demon's wandering hands, and his cock standing to attention, leaking precome as he shivers in the darkened room.

"Well, this is a nice new diversion," Crowley says. He keeps Castiel pinned to the desk with magic while his hands stroke the angel's skin.

"Don't do this," Castiel says, his voice pleading. "Not like this."

"Oh, don't be coy." Crowley chuckles. "We both know you want it, kitten."

The angel whimpers, closes his eyes. That pet name on this iteration of Crowley's lips hurts him.

"You're not the first angel I've deflowered. You probably won't be the last, either," Crowley says as he teases a finger across the tight pucker at Castiel's entrance.

"Please!"

"Shh…"

"Uncle Crowley?" A feminine voice calls from the hallway outside the study, and the demon is instantly tense and wary. His magical hold on Castiel falters. "Bollocks!" he growls.  He snaps Castiel's clothes back in place an instant before the study door opens and a teenage girl bounds into the room. "Amara, sweetheart," the demon says in a falsely sweet tone. "What did we discuss about my private chambers and knocking?"

"I'm hungry," the girl says.

Castiel straightens and turns to look at her. He flinches at the ancient power radiating off the young woman. He wrinkles his nose in distaste, barely able to keep looking at her. He has never encountered such a dark force of evil before. And suddenly, he knows who she is. He lunges forward and the demon tries to block him.

Castiel snarls and slams a hand hard into Crowley's chest. Grace flows and the demon howls, recoiling in agony. His body smokes at the point of contact between them and he doubles over, coughing up blood. He drops to his knees.

Castiel seizes Amara by her arm and takes to his wings.

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Bessie: Scottish slang for a loud, obnoxious woman.


	22. Chapter 22

**The 1st Reality**

Crowley grips Castiel's shoulders as the angel shudders and writhes on the bed. His blue eyes are open, but rolled back in their sockets exposing the whites. Bloody foam bubbles from the corner of his mouth.

"Cas!" Crowley says urgently. "Castiel! Snap out of it. Wake up."

Castiel makes a guttural, gurgling sound in his throat and mutters some incoherent nonsense that Crowley can't decipher. Half panicked, the demon hauls Castiel over onto this side, supporting him while he continues to seize. "Dammit, Angel, what the hell is going on with you?"

It seems to go on for hours, but it really can only have been a few minutes before the tremors lessen and Castiel slowly begins to relax. Crowley breathes, finally, realising only as he draws the first breath that he had ceased to do so. Fortunately, his vessel doesn't need oxygen, or he might have found himself sprawled unconscious along with the pigeon.

Once he's certain that the seizure has ended, he eases Castiel over onto his back and sits, gazing into the angel's still features. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the traces of blood and foam from around Castiel's mouth. That done, Crowley smooths tousled hair back from the angel's forehead and leans down, pressing his own brow to Castiel's.

"Angel, Kitten…" he whispers. "Come back to me. Wake up."

From the floor beside the bed, Juliet utters a long, low whine and Crowley quickly sits up, pulling his jacket straight and pocketing the bloodstained handkerchief. He scowls at the hellhound and chivvies her away from the bedside.

~*~

**The 2nd Reality**

Amara fights him. He had expected her to, of course, on some level. What he had not expected was her strength. Her fury. It is worse than the sensation of being caught in a blender that he'd experienced when he had seizures at the Men of Letters Bunker. This is like being swept up in the midst of a howling tornado. Flight is next to impossible as she struggles in his grasp. His wings are twisted, painfully wrenched one way and then another. He cries out, disoriented. He can't tell which way is up or down.

"Stop!" he roars at her over the shrieking of wind in his ears.

"Let me go!" She twists, hurling him this way and that. Around them, dark clouds of smoke whirl and eddy making Castiel dizzy. He turns to face her, grips her other arm and holds on for all he is worth.

Amara stills, gazing into his eyes. She reaches for him. Her hands coming to rest on Castiel's cheeks. It is almost a caress. Castiel frowns. Confused. She parts her lips.

There is a drawing sensation within Castiel's chest and he is flooded with a peculiar mix of dread and calm. He lets out a breath, losing himself in her gaze for a moment. She smiles and breathes in, capturing the breath he just exhaled.

_No!_ Castiel realises too late what that tugging sensation means. He tries to fight as his grace begins to seep between his parted lips. _No! Stop!_  He can't break free of her touch. He feels himself falling. Falling. The darkness closes in around him.

~*~

**The 1st Reality**

Sam climbs into the passenger seat of the impala and glances at his brother before he thumbs the speed dial for Crowley. He listens to the phone ring on the other end of the line. Once. Twice. Three Times.

Crowley finally picks up on the fifth ring, just before Sam had expected he'd be directed to voicemail. "Crowley, hey." Sam glances over his shoulder into the backseat as he speaks. "We found Rowena."

The witch sneers at him from where she sits, handcuffed on the rear bench seat. "Tell him I'm sorry he's well," she snarks.

Sam ignores her, turning to the front. "How's Cas?" He listens, his expression becoming grimmer as the demon speaks. Sam puffs out a breath. "We're about…" he glances at Dean who holds up four fingers.

"Four hours from you." A pause and Sam pulls the phone slightly away from his ear. "Just hold tight. Keep him quiet. We're on our way."

 


	23. Chapter 23

**The 2nd Reality**

 

_Angel, Kitten, come back to me…_

The words echo in his mind, seeming to come from someplace far away as awareness starts to return. He senses that he's lying on something soft, comforting and there is warmth surrounding him. Feather light. It feels safe and reassuring. He wants to stay here.

_Wake up…_

Castiel makes a soft sound in the back of his throat. He knows that voice. So familiar. So beloved. He mentally reaches for it. He opens his eyes.

He's lying on a bed of long grasses. The stems cushion his body and sunlight streams down upon him. The warmth is from the sun, but also, one wing is stretched across his body where he lies, the long flight feathers shielding him. He remembers then.

He'd been flying. He was struggling with Amara. She touched his face. Castiel snaps to full consciousness. His wings instinctively fold flat against his back, tight and tense. He's relieved, at least that he can move them. They seem undamaged. He sits up, looking around at his surroundings. He doesn't recognize this place.

Amara sits with her back to him a short distance away. She is tugging at the grasses, pulling long stems and examining them as though she has never seen grass before. Castiel watches her for a moment and then speaks softly.

"Amara."

She looks over her shoulder at him. There is something hurt and vulnerable in her eyes. Castiel gasps.

"Your face. You're hurt."

"You burned me," she says. One cheek and the corner of her mouth as blistered and weeping. Burned to the second layer of skin.

Castiel frowns. "I don't. I didn't…" He presses a hand to his chest. "My grace."

"I couldn't feed from you," Amara says. "You're one of them." Her expression darkens.

Castiel tips his head to one side. "I don't understand."

"The light," she says. She turns away from him, returns to pulling the grasses. "Let there be light."

Castiel knows those words. They originate from the legend of the beginning. The words God spoke to start the creation. He frowns and shakes his head. "I know that story," he says. "But I wasn't there."

Amara nods. "You're one of them. You came with the light."

Castiel says nothing. Confused by her insistence and unsure of how to convince her that he is not one of the archangels. There is silence for a time. Amara begins to weave the pulled grass stems together, frowning in concentration over her work. She doesn't look at him or acknowledge his presence in any way. She seems to have forgotten about him.

After a time, Castiel gets to his feet, looking around them. There is nothing to see but grass for miles in any direction. "Where are we?"

Amara glances at him. She shrugs. "Here." She weaves more grass into her design. "It's better here. No Suffering."

Castiel studies her for a moment. "You dislike suffering."

Amara looks at him. "I don't understand it. Why create a place where everyone suffers?"

"It wasn't meant to be like that. Earth was a paradise, but it became corrupted."

"No. God causes suffering. He made me suffer. He tricked me, he locked me away. I was doing no harm." Amara stands up and hands her woven grass to him. "God is the destroyer," she says.

Castiel looks down at the woven spiral and frowns. "What is it?"

"How it was meant to be," Amara says. "I'm hungry now. I want food."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [What Amara wove](http://flickrhivemind.net/blackmagic.cgi?id=6327185610&url=http%3A%2F%2Fflickrhivemind.net%2FTags%2Fmat%252Cwoven%2FInteresting%3Fsearch_type%3DTags%3Btextinput%3Dmat%252Cwoven%3Bphoto_type%3D250%3Bmethod%3DGET%3Bnoform%3Dt%3Bsort%3DInterestingness%23pic6327185610&user=&flickrurl=http://www.flickr.com/photos/42673181@N07/6327185610)


	24. Chapter 24

**The 1st Reality**

"I never thought I'd see this place again," Rowena looks around the chamber with obvious distaste. "Nor you," she adds with a sneer at Crowley.

"Feeling's mutual," the demon replies. "You're only alive because I have need of you," He gestures toward the bed where Castiel lies unconscious and deathly pale. "Lift your hex."

Rowena glances at the angel and then turns her attention to her son. "As if I'd do that. You just said the only reason I'm alive is because you need me to lift that spell. Once I've done it, what then? What guarantee do I have that y'won't kill me anyway?"

"None." Crowley shows her the angel blade he's been hiding behind his back. "I fully _intend_ to kill you, once it's done.'

With a mocking laugh, the witch turns to Sam who stands at her side. "Get me out of here. I won't lift my spell if it means my death.' She glances at Crowley. "Enjoy watching your angel die."

Sam shakes his head, looking from demon to witch and back again. Finally, he settles his gaze on Crowley. "Look. You're only complicating things more," he says. "She's not going to cooperate with you holding a blade to her throat. This is not about your feud with your mother, it's about Cas."

Crowley scowls, but he can see Sam's point. He glowers at Rowena. "All right. Lift your hex and I give you one day's start before I set my hounds on your trail."

"Twenty-four hours, not twelve," Rowena counters.

"Fine." Crowley steps aside, allowing her access to the bedside. "No tricks."

"If you please?" Rowena holds her cuffed hands out to Sam who unfastens the shackles.

Approaching the bed, Rowena studies Castiel for a moment and then makes a gesture with her hands. "Adlevo onus tuum."

Crowley watches Castiel, his expression darkening as the seconds tick by and there is no change. "Nothing's happening," he says, rounding on Rowena. "I warned you!"

"I didn't do anything to him," she replies, backing away. "Nothing's happening because there is nothing to happen. My hex wasn't affecting him anymore."

"Then what the hell is going on?" This is from Dean who has stayed quiet in the background till now. "Why is he like this?"

"This is something beyond my powers," Rowena says. She steps closer to the bed, one wary eye on Crowley as she moves. "I don't think it's even magic."

"The darkness," says Sam.

"What?" Rowena looks over her shoulder at Sam. "Darkness?"

"Long story," Crowley says. "Can you help him or not?"

Rowena bends over Castiel and to Crowley's annoyance seems to nuzzle his neck. He steps forward reaching to grab her arm, meaning to pull her away, but she raises a hand in his direction, and he thinks better of it. He remembers her immobilizing spell.

After a moment, she straightens, her green eyes thoughtful. "This is old power," she says. "Ancient. Like nothing I've encountered before."

"The darkness," Sam and Dean say at the same moment, but Rowena shakes her head.

"There's nothing dark about it," she says. "Try a different direction." She chuckles. "I'd say it's angelic."

~*~

**The 2nd Reality**

"There's nothing to eat here," Castiel says.

Amara scowls. "I'm hungry," she insists.

Castiel says nothing. He looks around, The landscape is unchanged. Mile upon mile of rolling grass plains. He is at a loss for what to do. He turns to the girl and shakes his head.

"Uncle Crowley said I could have whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it," Amara says. She glowers at Castiel. "I want food!"

"It's pointless to whine about it," Castiel tells her. "There is no food here. Unless you care to eat grass."

"I don't eat grass," she says. "I'm going now." She turns her back to him and stands, silent and unmoving for a moment. Castiel watches her, puzzled. Amara glances over her shoulder at him, and says. "Take me."

"Where?" Castiel is confused. He tips his head to one side.

"Back where we came from."

"You wish to return to hell?"

"No. Back to where there are people."

"Can't you go there by yourself? Didn't you bring us here?"

"I can't do it by myself every time," she replies. "Not when I'm so hungry."

Castiel shakes his head and puts a hand on her shoulder. He's still unsure of where he is, but he thinks he may be able to return them to civilisation. It's as simple as a thought, usually. He thinks of a place, and takes flight.

When he lands, there is a moment of disorientation. He had not expected to end up where he is. In a dark alleyway behind old abandoned warehouses. Castiel frowns and glances at Amara. Something about her seems to interfere with his ability to navigate. The girl doesn't acknowledge his presence. She is staring fixedly at someone else.

"Hello, Darling," Crowley purrs.

Castiel blinks. "How did…"

"Not you," Crowley flicks him a dismissive glance. "Her."

For a moment, Castiel wonders if the girl has betrayed him. Led him to the king of hell on purpose, but an instant later he has his answer when Amara vanishes. He's left standing in the alley with the King of Hell who is looking none too pleased with the current circumstances.

Two minions step from the shadows and Crowley jerks his chin in Castiel's direction. "Take him."

  
  



	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _VERY_ mild hints of non-con in this chapter. Proceed with caution.

**The 1st Reality**

Rowena has gone. Crowley still can't believe that he had her in his hands and he let her walk away. Still, he told her she had 24 hours before he set his hounds on her trail. He said nothing about minions. She won't get out of sight.

He paces by Castiel's bed, mulling over what the witch said about the coma or whatever it is, the angel is in. The power is angelic. He scowls. It's no secret that Heaven is after Castiel's blood. It seems to Crowley that those mooks would take a more hands on approach to the angel's punishment. But, if not heaven, who else?

Crowley stops pacing and slaps a palm against his forehead. "It's obvious!" He glances around and his gaze lights upon Castiel's manky trench coat hanging over the back of a chair. He goes to it, riffling through the pockets, a look of distaste on his face as he does so. His fist closes around the object he seeks and he draws it out, tossing the detested jacket aside. Why the angel insists on wearing that bloody thing is beyond him.

Holding the medallion in the palm of his hand, Crowley says. "Gabriel." He pauses a moment, and then adds, "You know I won't hesitate to burn your ass if you don't respond."

"Okay, pushy pushy!" The archangel appears, scowling, in front of Crowley. "What d'you want?"

"I think you know the answer to that." Crowley indicates the unconscious Castiel. "Whatever you've done to him, undo it. Now."

"What _I've_ done to him?" Gabriel studies Castiel for a moment, walking closer to get a better look. "Why would I do anything to him? He's my kid brother. I adore the big dope."

"He's under the influence of angelic power. Heaven hasn't had access to him that I know of. You're the only other angel to have been within cooee of him in weeks."

Gabriel hums softly and sits on the edge of the bed. He lays a hand on Castiel's forehead, frowning as he leans in close to his brother's face.

"Yep," he says after a moment. "It's definitely angelic, but it's not mine. I think you should look a little closer to home."

Crowley tips his head to the side, an unconscious mimicry of Castiel when he is puzzled. "Home?"

"Yeah, you know. Hell, the pit, hades, the inferno, sheol…"

"Quite." Crowley interrupts and then realization dawns. "The cage! This is Lucifer's doing?"

Gabriel shrugs. "Can't say for certain," he replies. "Maybe it's time you let me talk to my brothers?"

**The 2nd Reality**

Castiel chafes at the iron cuffs around his wrists. They are attached by heavy chains to the wall behind him. He's in a cell deep in the halls of hell and he's fuming. He'd fought, of course when Crowley set his demons on him. He did not make their task easy, but in the end he was overpowered, and now here he is. He awaits the arrival of the king. He wonders what his fate is to be, but he draws faint hope from the words Crowley spoke to those same minions. 

_Take him_ , not _Kill him_.

Castiel tugs fruitlessly at his bindings and then looks up as the cell door rattles open and he finds himself face to face with the King of Hell.

Crowley smirks. His gaze travels over the angel from his head, to his shackled wrists, to his feet and back again to his face. "Well well," he rasps. "You are in a pickle, aren't you?"

Castiel stands up. He adopts a relaxed, but wary pose. He meets Crowley's eyes. "Why have you brought me here?"

"You took something from me. I can't let that go unpunished," the demon replies. "Amara has evaded me for the present, but I can still extract my pound of...whatever I want from you, pigeon." He steps closer, into what Castiel knows Dean would call 'personal space.' The angel stands his ground.

"Amara is not yours," Castiel says. "And you are not a good role model. You do not allow a child to have anything it wants, whenever it wants. _Uncle_ Crowley."

The demon chuckles. "Amara's not a child, either, for that matter." He crowds closer, forcing Castiel to back up a pace. "She's ancient, dark. She's more mine than anyone else's."

Castiel can feel the demon's breath gusting against his skin at these close quarters. He can catch the faintest trace of sulphur, which he knows Crowley takes pains to conceal. He locks gazes with the king for a long moment, trying to read the demon's intentions in his eyes. What he sees in those dark depths causes him to look away, half turning his head. A flash of his previous encounter with this Crowley makes him shiver involuntarily.

He can almost feel Crowley's smirk. He certainly hears it in the demon's voice when he speaks. 

"So, here you are. At my whim."

Castiel resists the urge to close his eyes. He clamps his lips hard together when the demon's hand touches between his thighs. He will not cry out. He will endure what he knows is coming in silence. He won't give Crowley the satisfaction of seeing him break.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place between 11:6-11:7

**The 1st Reality**

Dean stands on the shore of the lake, watching his brother tossing flowers and pennies into the water. He's not entirely convinced they're going to get any response from this goddess, Orisha, whatever she is. Despite the weird things they have seen and done over the years, Dean just can't imagine how a few white roses and seven pennies is a sufficient offering.

"I mean, isn't blood the usual currency for these gods and their kind?"

Sam glances over his shoulder. His expression says _shut up_. He doesn't speak. After a moment, he turns back to the lake and Calls out "Yemaya?" A pause. "Uh, Ma'am? Can we have a word?"

Dean shoves his hands into his pockets and scuffs at the stony lake shore with the toe of his boot. "Besides, I'm freezin' my nuts off here," he mutters.

"Dean!"

"Okay, I'll shut up."

"No. Look." Sam points out into the middle of the lake.

At first Dean doesn't see anything, but then, he notices the slight ripples. Something is moving just under the surface, headed for the shore at a rapid pace. The brothers watch in silence.

As the underwater object nears the shore, it breaks the surface and Sam and Dean see bright blue scaly skin, and two arms. Then the fluke of what looks like a large fish tail.

"It's a mermaid!" Dean edges closer to the shore as the creature raises its head from the water, staring at them with large, silver eyes in a human face. The creature makes a chattering sound, something like the noise a dolphin might produce. Dean stares, mouth agape until his brother nudges him in the ribs.

"It's not a mermaid," Sam murmurs. "It's an Undine."

"A what?" Dean studies the creature. He can't really tell if it is male or female. It has a humanoid head, covered in scales, and dark, wispy hair that clings damply to its scalp. In place of ears, he can make out fin like protrusions poking from between strands of hair. It's eyes are large, round, with huge round pupils and silver irises. It has no nose and its mouth is thin lipped. Small sharp teeth show when it utters another string of chattering sounds. It has two humanoid arms, but the skin is covered in iridescent blue scales. From the shoulders down, the body is decidedly fish like. 

"An Undine," Sam repeats. "A water sprite." He frowns. "I can't understand what it's saying."

"Is it Yemaya?"

"I don't think so," Sam replies and this is seemingly confirmed by the Undine shaking its head and chattering even more emphatically. It chatters a few more times and the brothers can only shake their heads, spreading their hands out in mute appeal.

After a few exchanges like this, the Undine dives beneath the surface and, with a flick of its tail, disappears.

"Well, that was helpful," Dean grouses.

Sam lets out a long breath and pushes a hand through his hair. "I don't get it. We summoned Yemaya, but we get a water sprite. I…" He trails off as a surge of bubbles break the surface and the Undine pokes its head out of the water once more. It raises an arm and flings something at Sam with considerable force.

"Hey!" Sam ducks, instinctively throwing his hands up to protect his face and manages to catch the object. "There's no need to get violent, just because I can't speak your language!" He looks at the object. A small, glittering shell, and frowns. "What's this?"

The Undine cups a hand to its ear. It points at Sam.

"Aww, lookit," Dean says. "She er he...it wants you to listen to the ocean!"

Sam scowls at him. "Shut up." He inspects the shell carefully, peering inside the small opening to make sure there's nothing in it, and then lifts it to his ear. He listens for a moment, and then huffs in frustration. "I can't hear anything but the sound of my own pulse," he grumbles. "It's not the ocean, anyone knows that!"

"Don't be a spoilsport," Dean tells him. He is about to say more when the Undine cuts him off, chattering away in it's dolphin language.

Sam gasps, a look of wonder crossing his face. He smiles and looks at the water sprite. "Yes, I can," he says.

More chattering.

"We're looking for the Orisha, Yemaya," Sam says. He listens as the Undine chatters for several long bursts. Sam nods occasionally, but he doesn't interrupt.

Dean watches, looking from one to the other, still completely unable to understand anything that's being said.

After a few minutes of chattering from the Undine, and one or two word responses from Sam, the Undine dives again and doesn't resurface.

"Well? What was all that about?" Dean asks.

"Okay, so this is the gist of it," Sam says. "The Undine heard us calling Yemaya and decided that he should come and speak to us. Apparently, Yemaya hasn't been seen in this lake for a long time. She was known by various names to the native tribes. She would appear to them sometimes in their vision quests and would give assistance at times, if the right offerings were made."

"So, where is she?"

"The Undine didn't know." Sam huffs out a breath. "He doesn't think she inhabits any of the waters in this land anymore."

"Dammit!" Dean kicks at the stones by his feet and shakes his head. "So all this has been a wild goose chase."

"Looks like," Sam acknowledges gloomily. "I kind of get the feeling the answer's gonna be the same no matter which Orisha we go after."

"Well. I guess there's one good thing about it."

"Yeah?"

"Our God's not the only one that's gone AWOL."

Sam frowns. "Except, maybe he's not AWOL. My visions…"

"We don't know that they're from God, Sam."

"We don't know that they're not."

Dean merely shakes his head and walks towards where they left the car.

~*~

**The 2nd Reality**

Castiel lies prone on the bed in Crowley's personal chambers. He has been freed from the cell the demons consigned him to after his capture, but his wrists are still manacled and he is chained to a wall by the bed. He has enough slack in the chain to roll from side to side, and to walk a short distance from the bed, yet he is still a prisoner.

The angel has not moved from where Crowley left him after… He shakes his head, pushing away the memories that want to flash through his mind. He won't think of it. It's enough that he must still bear the marks. That he still feels the pain. There is something about the restraints that prevents his grace from healing him.

When a weight lands on the bed next to him, Castiel whimpers. To his shame, he cringes. He catches the scent of sulfur, and the cologne that Crowley wears.

"Please, no more," Castiel begs.

The only answer is a pained groan. Castiel stills. He slowly lifts his head to look at the demon. What he sees, causes him to suck in an audible breath between his teeth. Crowley is bloodied, bruised. He's huddled on the bed in an attitude of abject misery. Castiel can almost feel the waves of agony. He senses many broken bones. The king's rib cage is almost completely crushed. He bleeds from his mouth and nose. His eyes are blackened. But it is not just the vessel. The demon within is injured too. The dragon face barely visible to Castiel through the vessel's skin is twisted in a rictus of torment.

Despite his fear of the creature beside him, Castiel is moved to compassion. He has ever been quick to identify with suffering. Swift to heal where he can. He tentatively reaches a hand towards Crowley. "You're hurt."

"Fuck off!" Crowley snarls and pulls away from the offered touch. "Leave me!" He groans and a thick line of blood rolls from the corner of his mouth.

"I...can't," Castiel replies. He shakes his chains.

With a feeble snap of his fingers, the demon releases the cuffs. He sobs, and flinches in pain from the movement. "Get out," he rasps.

Castiel shakes his head. "Crowley…"

"I. Said. Get… Get the FUCK OUT!"

Castiel recoils from the hatred and wrath sparking from the demon's eyes. He takes wing, headed for the Men of Letters Bunker.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Inspiration for my Undine](http://orig07.deviantart.net/444d/f/2009/360/5/3/undine_by_pigeon_capsule.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
> _A/N: In established myth and folklore, water elementals such as Undine are depicted as primarily female. This stems from the belief that water itself is a female element._
> 
>  
> 
> _In this chapter, Sam refers to the Undine as "he" whilst Dean is unable to tell whether it is male or female. In my head, the Undine is neither. I see it as being more intergender or hermaphrodite. This, to me, makes the Undine more otherworldly, which is what I wanted to convey in this encounter. Put it down to creative licence._
> 
>  
> 
> _It happens. After all cherubim such as Cupid are depicted as babies in folklore, but adults in S/N. :)_


	27. Chapter 27

**The 2nd Reality**

"Cas?" Dean Winchester looks up as the angel lands in the library at the bunker. He stares, open mouthed for a moment, and then, in typical Dean style goes on the attack. "Where the hell have you been, dude? Seriously! We've been praying to you for days! D'you think that whatever the hell you had going on, you might have put it aside for just a minute while you came to see what…"

Castiel holds up his hands to ward off the torrent of words. "I didn't hear your prayers," he says. "Not that I could have answered them, if I had." He frowns and glances towards the door as Sam enters from the kitchen carrying two plates with sandwiches on them."Hello, Sam."

"Cas!" Sam puts the plates down on the table and stands quietly regarding the angel. His manner has always been to observe before speaking, and it's something Castiel is grateful for right at this moment.

"What d'you mean, you couldn't answer our prayers?" Dean is still scowling, but his tone has evened out a little.

"In the first instance, if you've been praying for days, I wouldn't have heard the prayers initially, because I wasn't in this..." he gestures around them, "...timeline. In the second instance, I've been unable to use any of my powers for the last day and a half because I was held prisoner in hell."

"What?" Dean takes a half-step towards him. "Prisoner? What the hell?"

Sam cuts in then, holding up one hand to his brother, and then he turns to Castiel. "Why don't you sit down and fill us in? I think we're a little out of the loop."

"Yes." Castiel nods and pulls out a chair at the table where the Winchesters have been engaged in research. He picks up a half of one of the sandwiches and bites into it.

"Hey!" Dean grabs the plate and pulls it towards himself.

"Dean," Sam remonstrates.

"Angels don't eat."

"I need the sustenance at this time," Castiel says through a mouthful of bread and ham. "My powers are still recovering."

Dean looks chagrined. He pushes the sandwich across the table again. "I'm not that hungry, anyway," he says.

Castiel has not realised that he is famished until he bites into the sandwich, he eats with relish and finishes the sandwich, delicately wiping his hands on a napkin beside the plate before he speaks. "I'm not from here," he says. "I came...I was sent from another timeline. This one seems different. For instance, in this timeline, the darkness is incarnate. A female named…"

"Amara," the Winchesters both chime in.

"Yes." Castiel nods. He eyes Sam's sandwich and it is pushed across to him. He doesn't pick it up.

"Wait, if you're from another timeline, where's _our_ Cas?" Dean asks.

"I don't know the answer to that question," Castiel replies. "Perhaps he is in my timeline, or maybe he has been sent somewhere else."

"You say you were sent here," Sam says. "Who sent you?"

"Micheal." 

The brothers glance at each other, frowning, and then look at Castiel. "Why?" Dean asks.

"I am unsure as yet. My brother said that I needed to see the truth. He said that I was being delayed by the darkness in my timeline and that this timeline held the answers." He frowns. "So far, I have been tortured by angels, captured by demons, held prisoner by Crowley and…" He lowers his eyes and presses his lips together. He picks at the sandwich in front of him, pulling a small piece of ham from between the bread and putting it into his mouth.

"And what?" Dean.

"It's not important."

"Cas?" Sam's voice, gentle. Castiel looks up and meets the younger brother's eyes for a moment without speaking and then he shakes his head. He won't talk about what happened to him in hell.

"Now that I am free, perhaps I can work at finding out why Michael sent me," he says. "I… need a place to stay, at least until my grace is stronger and my injuries heal."

"Of course," Sam nods emphatically, casting a glance at Dean who also nods his head. "Anything you need," Sam adds.

"Thank you." Castiel stands up. "I would like to shower, and I need to rest." He walks towards the bathroom, and Sam gets up to follow him. Castiel turns to look at him. "I know where the towels are," he says. "And I'm assuming the bedroom at the end of the hall is free for my use?"

Sam stops in his tracks. He studies Castiel for a long moment, and then nods. "Sure."

 **The 1st reality**  

Crowley is done with this waiting game! He's sat vigil by the angel's bed for three days and there has been no change. He's never been the type to take a passive approach to anything. He's not about to start now. He wants answers and he's going to damned well get them! 

With a growl, the king pushes to his feet. He takes Michael's amulet from his trouser pocket, but before he can even growl Gabriel's name, the archangel appears. Crowley has the impression the bloody parrot was lurking in the shadows, invisible. He must do something about the angel warding around his chambers.

"Thought you'd never call!" Gabriel chirps and Crowley restrains the urge to gag him with one of his own wings.

"We're going to see your brothers," Crowley mutters. "They'd better bloody cooperate, too, because if they think that cage is the worst I can do to them, they have got one serious big think coming to them!"

"I love morning people," Gabriel remarks. He steps out of range when he catches the look on Crowley's face, and makes a courtly gesture for the king to precede him. "After you," he purrs.

Crowley grimaces. He presses his lips tightly together and snaps his fingers. He and Gabriel find themselves an instant later, standing outside the cage.

 

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N In this chapter, I have used the same incantation which Rowena used in 11:09 to bring Lucifer out of the cage and into the holding cell. However the means in which I used the spell are different, and the spell is somewhat more powerful when worked by an archangel. I won't say too much more here as I don't want to spoil the chapter too much for you._
> 
>  
> 
> _Oh. Also. I'm SORRY!!!_
> 
>  
> 
> _You will see why the apology as you read on._
> 
>  
> 
> _This will probably be my last update to this story until after the holidays, so whatever or however you celebrate the end of one year and beginning of another, may you have a happy, safe and relaxing time. xx Mordhena_

**The 1st Reality**

Crowley leads Gabriel through the labyrinthine halls of hell, deep into the lower levels where The Light Bearer and his archangel brother are imprisoned behind strongly warded stone walls and heavy iron bars. They pause outside the final door, and Crowley dismisses the demon guards. He turns to Gabriel, his lips parted to speak.

There is an impact, the room flares with blue-white light and Crowley is burned to the very depths of his being. He screams with the agony of it. He feels himself fraying apart, his vessel writhes and contorts, he cannot see. He cannot think beyond the desperate need to escape the pain, certain that death is closer to him than his own breath. 

"Please!" he cries. Blood bubbles between his lips and the pain intensifies. "No!"

Everything fades to blinding white.

~*~

Gabriel pulls his hand away from Crowley's forehead and watches as the King's lifeless vessel crumples to the floor. He smirks and shakes his head. "You really should know better than to trust a trickster," he says.

Stepping over Crowley's body, he makes his way into the cage. "Luci, I'm home!"

For a moment, there is silence, and then measured footsteps approach from the back of the cage. Lucifer comes to the bars and peers out. "Gabriel? But I thought I killed you." 

"Yeah," Gabriel replies. "So did I. Lucky for you, I'm stronger than I look." He smirks. "I'm here to spring you."

Lucifer chuckles the sound low, and somehow menacing. "Don't toy with me, Brother. This cage is heavily warded. If the locks could be broken, I assure you, I would have broken them by now."

"Not…" Gabriel pauses for effect, "necessarily. You're inside the cage. You're under the influence of the warding. All your not inconsiderable vanity aside, Bro, even you are subject to the rules sometimes."

Lucifer considers for a moment and then nods acquiescence. "All right," he says. "Show me what you've got."

"Magic," Gabriel says. "A little something I learned from a witch back in my Loki days. "See, while you're _in_ the cage, your powers are limited. But what if you could get outside the influence of the cage?" As he speaks, Gabriel snaps his fingers, conjuring an altar with a bowl a dagger, various ingredients and a lighted candle on it. 

Folding his arms, Lucifer lounges against the bars. "Go on. I always did enjoy a good magic show."

Gabriel mixes ingredients into the bowl and glances at his brother. "Okay, here goes…" He focuses his attention on the bowl and speaks in Enochian. " _Foro dega la moray_." Somewhere in the depths of the chamber there is a rumbling groan. Gabriel stirs the ingredients with the dagger, dipped in blood. " _Mah ho tah!_ " He tosses a handful of some powder into the bowl and the ingredients burst into flame. " _Foh reh say-lah!_ "

Another deep rumble echoes through the chamber and the floor shudders. Gabriel staggers and grips the edges of the altar for balance. He looks to his brother who is standing alert, looking around the cage as the shuddering increases.

Both archangels instinctively duck as a tearing shriek divides the air and the entire chamber is rocked by an earthquake. Rubble falls and Gabriel dodges out of the way of a heavy chunk of stone seconds before it strikes him.

The shaking continues for a long moment and then all falls still. Gabriel looks up, seeking his brother and sees that the bars of the cage have shattered. The entire chamber seems to lean oddly to one side and the cage is broken open. 

Stepping through the broken bars, Lucifer brushes himself down. He glances over his shoulder, calling for Michael.

Gabriel smiles, wide and triumphant. He extends his hands to greet his brothers. "The boys are back in town!"


	29. Chapter 29

**The 2nd Reality**

Dean slams the car door, the sound echoing through the cavernous underground garage. "All I'm saying is it's about time he came out of his room," He glances at Sam across the Impala's roof. "He's been here, what? Five days and he's done nothing but eat, and watch Netflix. I mean, I'm just glad angels don't _need_ to shower 'cause if they did? He'd be pretty ripe by now. He hasn't even changed his clothes."

"He never changes his clothes," Sam points out. "Well, not often, anyway. Not since…"

Dean gives an exasperated sigh. 

"I think there's something going on with him," Sam says.

"No. What gives you _that_ idea?"

Sam glowers at his brother and goes on. "He hasn't been right since he got here. I swear there was something he was gonna say and then he changed his mind. Maybe you should try talking to him? He might open up with you?"

"Maybe," Dean says. "I'll talk to him after I clean up." He glances down at his clothes, still smeared with mud and gore from their latest hunt.

Sam nods. "Okay. I'm gonna get changed and then I'll get something ready for dinner.

~*~

Castiel sprawls on the bed in the room he has occupied since he arrived at the bunker. His clothes are rumpled, disheveled from lying around in them, although his vessel is physically clean. He has about three days stubble on his cheeks though, and can't seem to find the energy to mojo it away. His hair is unkempt. 

He stares at the laptop screen as the inmates of Litchfield Correctional Center argue over the existence or non-existence of a chicken.

"It's real," Castiel murmurs. "It has to be. Too many people have seen it." He frowns. "I hope that Red doesn't catch it. It doesn't deserve to become chicken soup."

A soft tap on the door has him glancing up. "Come in?"

Dean steps into the room. He's carrying two beers and offers one to Castiel. It's the kind Castiel can drink without tasting too much of its molecular structure. The angel sits up and takes the drink. "Thank you."

Dean moves to sit on the edge of the bed, glancing at the laptop.

"Orange is the new black," Castiel supplies. He reaches to pause the stream and takes a mouthful of beer. "How was the hunt?"

"Just like any other hunt, I guess," Dean replies. He meets Castiel's gaze. "How's… everything? Your grace?"

"Stronger," Castiel replies with a nod. "I'm feeling…" He is about to say, 'better' but he isn't. Not really. Yes, his grace is stronger, and yes, he has rested enough--more than enough. Yet there are still shadows that lurk beneath his eyes, and whenever he contemplates leaving the bunker… Castiel closes his eyes, shutting off that train of thought.

"Cas," Dean says softly. "What's wrong?"

The angel flinches as though Dean has slapped him. He opens his eyes, his gaze flickering to Dean's face and quickly shying away. "Nothing."

"You suck as a liar, you know?"

"I do not. As I've pointed out to Sam, I have deceived both you, him and Cr… I've successfully practiced deception several times."

Dean smirks. "Granted, but this time, I can tell you're lying."

"It's nothing you need to worry about," Castiel says.

"I think I do need to worry." Dean persists, leaning a little closer. "This…" he gestures at the laptop, and the empty food plates littering the room. "This's not you, Cas. What's going on?"

"Dean."

"You said you were held prisoner in hell. Did something happen then? Did Crowley…"

"We made an agreement, Dean. We don't talk about what happened in hell." Castiel presses his lips firmly together, still avoiding eye contact.

"We don't talk about what happened to _me_ in hell. C'mon, Cas. We're family. If you can't tell me, then who can you tell?"

A tremor runs through Castiel's vessel and he finally looks up, making eye contact. "I was tortured," he says softly. "It's nothing unusual. Everyone in hell is tortured."

"Yeah," Dean nods solemnly. "I get that, but…"

"By Crowley." The words are spoken so softly, that Dean almost doesn't catch them.

Dean frowns. "Crowley himself?" He shakes his head. "He doesn't usually dirty his hands."

"In my timeline, Crowley and I are… we have a relationship," Castiel says. "I don't know if it's different here. I…"

"Well. I wouldn't say it's a relationship," Dean says. "You don't quite hate each other though. He's helped us out here and there."

Castiel nods. "Yes, that's where it started." He turns his head away, staring into the distance. "He would assist with things. Then we made a deal that didn't work out so well in the end."

"The Leviathan thing."

"Yes." Castiel looks at Dean. "After that we were on less friendly terms for a while, but it changed later on."

"Uh huh. Well, I guess in this timeline, you never got past that. So, what happened, in hell?"

"He. Hurt me," Castiel murmurs. 

"Hurt?" Dean stares for a long time in silence as realization slowly dawns across his features. "Oh. Jesus, Cas, I'm…"

"It's not your fault," the angel says quickly. He gets off the bed, pacing. "It has left me...shaken. I can't…"

Dean stands up. He moves to stand in front of Castiel, stopping the restless pacing.

"I can't even think of leaving the bunker," Castiel says. He looks into Dean's eyes. "I. I'm afraid to, Dean. I've never been so afraid. I don't know if I can ever..."

"Hey. Easy." Dean lifts a hand to rest it on Castiel's shoulder. "We'll work this out," he says. "Somehow."

 

**The 1st Reality**

Lucifer and Michael stand facing Gabriel, each in his own way assessing the new situation. Michael speaks first.

"Well done, little brother." He smiles at Gabriel, stepping forward to place his hand on the archangel's shoulder. "I knew I could always count on you." His grip tightens and Gabriel winces.

"Hey, not so much on the 'little,'" he replies. The pressure on his shoulder becomes painful. Gabriel tries to pull away. "We should probably get out of here. I don't know how long it'll be before the guards come back."

"Get out?" Lucifer says. "How do you propose we do that? I need a vessel to go topside." 

Gabriel looks at Lucifer and then back to Michael. "But we can go home," he says. "To heaven. That was the whole point in breaking you out. Raphael's dead and no one's in charge." He meets Michael's eyes, looking beneath Adam Milligan's face to the celestial being within. "You can take over again."

"Oh, how sweet," Lucifer purrs. "He thinks we want to play happy family."

Gabriel smarts under the sardonic tone. "I thought you'd be…"

Lucifer gives a long suffering sigh. "Gabriel...it's never been about heaven. Well, no. You're right. Maybe it was, at first. But that's not what I want, now." He steps forward, slinging an arm around Michael's shoulders. "It's not what either of us want. Heaven?" he scoffs. "Presiding over the eternal rewards of a flock of goody two-shoes souls who never so much as squished a bug? Please."

"Michael," Gabriel pleads. "Heaven needs you. It's chaos without a strong leader. Dad's been gone for eons… You're the highest ranking archangel it's your…"

"Duty?" Michael shakes his head. "Is that what you were going to say?" He fists a hand into the front of Gabriel's shirt and pulls him close. Gabriel can only blink in surprise, his gaze shifting uneasily from one to the other of his brothers. He gives a muffled cry when his own blade is snatched from hiding and pressed against his heart. 

"Michael...Brother!" Gabriel gasps. He holds his hands up, a gesture of supplication. 

Lucifer clicks his tongue, gently placing a finger under the point of the blade and guiding it away from Gabriel's chest. "Impetuosity was always your weakness, Michael," he chides. He turns to Gabriel. "Our brother here is a little sensitive around the issue of duty. You understand. I mean, look where it got him last time he tried to carry out his heavenly mandate." A gesture at the cage. "But, I think you can still be useful to me."

Gabriel is released from Michael's grasp. He makes a point of straightening his clothing, sending reproachful glances at Michael all the while. "Of course I can!" he says to Lucifer. "Just name it. I'll do it."

"Yes. I believe you will." Lucifer's lips quirk in a cold smile. "Bring me Sam Winchester."


	30. Chapter 30

**The 1st Reality**

It's a dangerous game he is playing. Gabriel is very aware of the fact that he's dicing with death. Michael came very close to ending him right after Gabriel had released his brothers from the cage. He is certain that had Lucifer not decided he is useful, he really would be dead this time.

 _And that really bites,_ Gabriel thinks. _I go to all that trouble. I get him OUT and what do I get for thanks? A blade aimed at my heart. He misses me._ Gabriel scoffs. "Yeah, right!"

The archangel makes his way through hell unchallenged. No demon besides Crowley would have the balls to oppose an archangel and, well, Crowley's not a problem anymore. 

As Gabriel approaches the King of Hell's chambers demons scatter. Gabriel smirks and casually lets himself into the hallowed rooms.

A low, menacing growl greets him and Gabriel meets the glowing red eyes of a hell hound. An enormous bitch easily twice the size of a very large Great Dane, and three times as heavy. The archangel grins. "Hey there, puppy," he says. "I'm Gabriel. We've met."

The hound bares her fangs, spittle dripping from her jaws as she raises her hackles and advances on him.

"Oh, relax. I'm not here to hurt anyone." Gabriel stands his ground as the canine rakes razor sharp claws across the stone floor. "I'm impressed," he says, regarding the gouges left in their wake. "But I'm an archangel. D'you really wanna test me?"

The hound growls again, her red eyes flashing in the dim light of the chamber, but she doesn't advance any further. Gabriel smiles.

"Good dog." He steps past the hound and makes his way to where he knows Castiel sleeps in Crowley's bed. 

The seraph lies supine under the blankets. Long dark lashes flutter against his cheeks as his eyes make quick darting movements behind their lids. Gabriel perches on the edge of the bed, and takes hold of Castiel's hand.

"Hey, Bro. Can we talk?" He smiles faintly. "Well, I mean, can _I_ talk…"

**The 2nd Reality**

Castiel sits hunched at the table in the bunker's kitchen. He clasps a hot cup of coffee between his hands. It's warmth feels pleasant against his palms, and he breathes the aromatic steam rising from the mug appreciatively. He doesn't drink it, though. Experience has taught him that it's better just to savor the feel and smell of it. He glances up to find both Sam and Dean watching him intently.

Dean's expression relays concern. Sam is merely puzzled. 

It had taken Dean an hour to coax Castiel out of his room that morning.

"Just to the library," Dean cajoled. "You don't have to go any further than that. It's just a few steps down the hall from this room."

"Dean. I'm fine here. I…" Castiel glanced around the room. "I go out to the kitchen at least twice a day for food."

"Okay, if you're more comfortable going to the kitchen, we'll go there." Dean held out a hand, smiling. "I just want you to actually get out of your room for longer than it takes to make a sandwich or nuke a bag of popcorn."

Castiel sighs. He's well aware that Dean can be like Crowley's Juliet with a bone when he wants to be. It's futile to argue any longer.

So now Castiel is in the kitchen nursing a mug of coffee Sam poured for him and gazing into the eyes of the two hunters.

"You okay?" Dean asks.

Castiel nods. "I'm fine," he says. Dean smiles. 

"It's good to see you out and about," Sam says.

Castiel is suddenly aware of his disheveled state. He glances down at his unlaced tie, the rumpled trench coat. His shirt, that looks like it has been slept in for a week. He hasn't slept, exactly, but he's not really paid much attention to how he presents himself. With a thought, his clothes become crisp, freshened as though they have just come from the cleaners. He also wishes away the stubble on his cheeks. He runs a hand across his hair, smoothing it.

Both hunters blink in surprise. He supposes they've never actually witnessed him freshening up before. He breathes another lungful of Caffeine scented steam. And then he tenses.

"Cas?" Dean takes a half-step towards him.

Castiel is vaguely aware of Sam and Dean's voices calling to him, but there's something else. Another voice. He frowns, consciously tuning the hunters out and focusing on the words he can hear in the back of his mind.

"Gabriel," he murmurs.

**The 1st Reality**

Gabriel takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "So, it's like this." He strokes a thumb across the back of Castiel's hand and let's his gaze travel over the beloved features of the seraph's face. "I had this idea. A plan, I guess. No...I _have_ a plan and it's sort of going okay so far, well, except for one or two teeny tiny little unexpected twists." He chuckles, a soft, nervous sound. "See, I might have kind of um...led you astray. You know with all the breastplate of righteousness stuff? Hearing from Dad, the seven powers and… look okay, so Dad didn't speak to me through the breast plate. I kind of made it up. Not that the Orishas are made up! No, they definitely exist. I've met most of them. I mean, I was a minor deity of sorts myself after all." Gabriel startles and looks up as the hell hound ambles into the chamber. He bites his lip and considers reaching for his blade, but the hound pays no attention to him. She jumps onto the bed, the mattress groaning under her weight, and settles herself by Castiel's feet.

"So yeah, I guess I distracted you with that… I'm sorry. That's not the end of the story though. I uh… needed you out of my way. I knew you'd never go with the whole idea of releasing Michael and Luci from the cage. In my defense though, I did it for a good reason! I figured if we got them out, then we'd have their full powers at our disposal. Their wings are seriously clipped by the cage after all."

"I was going to wake you up once they were free, I swear! You know my motto. Forgiveness is better than permission, right?" Gabriel stares at Castiel for a long moment and then shakes his head. "I didn't really mean to hurt anyone." He sighs. "Oh Dad! This taking way too long to explain! Here…" He reaches out and presses two fingers against Castiel's right temple.

**The 2nd Reality**

Castiel listens to the faint stream of words. He's unable to really catch what is being said. Fragmented sentences, exclamations and nothing that makes a lot of sense. He closes his eyes, trying to pin down the elusive voice and bring it into sharper focus. He tips his head to one side. "I can't…"

Then, the connection is suddenly intensified. He can no longer hear Gabriel's voice, but a series of visions flash across his mind. He sees Gabriel leaning over a figure lying in a bed. He sees Crowley hovering nearby. He can't make out what they're saying, but he can see worry and frustration etched on the demon's features.

The scene shifts. Crowley walks ahead of Gabriel through the lower reaches of hell. Castiel recognizes the path they're on. It leads to the cage. Castiel holds his breath, sensing that something is not right.

A harsh cry escapes him. He watches helplessly as his brother smites Crowley. "No!" The demon crumples to the floor at Gabriel's feet.

Castiel is still reeling from that when suddenly he is outside the cage. The bars, the walls, the floor all are shattered and Michael and Lucifer stand before him. Free. 

"Gabriel!" Castiel cries. "What have you done?"

Lucifer's voice cuts across the vision, cold, mocking. "Bring me Sam Winchester." 

"No! No no _no_!" Castiel shakes himself free of the vision.

Sam and Dean are both leaning over him where he sits at the table. The mug he was holding lies shattered on the floor, coffee spreads in a dark stain across the linoleum tiles. 

"Cas!" Dean says. "What the hell's going on?"

"Dean!" he raises pleading eyes to meet the hunter's gaze. "None of this is real! I… I have to go _back_!"


	31. Chapter 31

**Reality**

Castiel comes to wakefulness with a gasp. At the foot of the bed, Juliet lifts her head and greets him with a booming bark. As the angel sits up, the hound rolls onto her back, paws in the air.

"I'm pleased to see you, too," Castiel says. "But there is no time for belly rubs." As he speaks, the angel gets out of the bed and wishes his clothing on. He quickly leaves Crowley's chambers, the hellhound close on his heels.

Castiel immediately makes his way into the lower reaches of hell. The vision of Gabriel smiting Crowley haunts him and he winks himself to the location of the cage in less than a human heartbeat. The hallway is silent. Still. Nothing stirs in the dim torchlight and at first, Castiel thinks that there is no one here. Juliet rushes past him, almost knocking the angel off his feet. Then, he sees the huddled form on the floor. 

"Crowley." Castiel is by the demon's side in an instant, hunkering down beside him. He gently rolls the King onto his back, peering into the still features."Can you hear me?"

Juliet whimpers, licking the demon's face, nudging him with her muzzle.

There is no response. Castiel sinks to his knees on the floor. He lays a hand on the king's chest. "Crowley…" He whispers.

The King of Hell is deathly still. No spark of life stirs under Castiel's hand. The angel bows his head as anger and grief swirl together inside of him. Juliet emits a long, low, dolorous whine and nudges Castiel's arm with her snout. He looks up, meeting the hell hound's eyes. He lifts his free hand and lays it on her head for a moment.

"I cannot leave him here," Castiel murmurs. He pulls the demon into his arms and winks them both to the bedchamber he so recently left. He lays Crowley on the bed and bends over him, cupping the demon's face with both hands. 

"I love you," Castiel whispers and presses his lips against the unresponsive mouth. He closes his eyes. Grief wells within him and he sobs against Crowley's lips. After a long moment, he pulls away. He presses a hand to the demon's chest and releases a flash of grace. He knows it's futile, yet he must try in any case. There is no change.

Juliet comes to the bedside and sits on her haunches at Castiel's foot. She whimpers.

Castiel turns to her. "Guard him," he says firmly.

As anger and grief mingle together in his breast the angel stands, finally allowing the emotions to rise to the surface, bubbling over into a white-hot, righteous fury. He lifts his chin. His eyes flare bright blue with grace and he drops his angel blade into his hand.

With a harsh cry, he takes wing.

In the chamber, by the King of Hell's bed, a lone hellhound raises her muzzle to the ceiling and gives vent to a long, mournful baying howl that echoes throughout the halls of hell.


	32. Chapter 32

**Reality**

Dean is hunched over Sam's laptop in the library when Castiel lands at the Bunker. He looks up, startled and an expression of disbelief, quickly followed by relief crosses his features. 

"Cas, you're awake! How? I... " Dean shakes his head. "Listen I need…"

"Has Gabriel been here?" Castiel cuts Dean off.

"Yeah. He was here." Dean's expression darkens. "He's got Sam. Cas, we have to…"

Dean's words fade out of Castiel's consciousness as he turns inward, trying to get a fix on Gabriel's location. Of course, he can't sense Sam, thanks to the sigils Castiel himself engraved on the hunter's ribs. He should be able to locate Gabriel though, assuming the archangel has not warded himself in some way.

"Cas? Cas!" Dean's raised voice cuts across his thoughts. The angel scowls at him.

"Dean, I'm trying to locate my brother. And yours." He meets Dean's eyes. "If this is even real, we have big problems. Michael and Lucifer are free from the cage."

"What? How? Real? What're you talking about?" Dean pushes a hand through his tousled hair. 

"I'd be happy to explain, but there's no time." Castiel resumes his search for Gabriel. After several moments he feels a tug towards the West. "I think I have found them," he says. He vanishes in a rustle of wings, leaving Dean cursing in his wake.

~*~

He expected to land in hell, or perhaps in some remote, abandoned warehouse. Castiel finds himself outside an ordinary looking suburban house The windows are dark, and the house is quiet. Too quiet, perhaps. Frowning, the angel approaches. He can sense Michael and Gabriel inside the dwelling. He hopes that due to his tattoo, his brothers are unaware of his presence. He deems it prudent to cloak himself from view. There is no need to alert the neighbours by allowing himself to be seen prowling around the outside of the house.

There is light emanating from a window at the side of the house. Moving to it, Castiel peers inside. Sam Winchester is inside. He sits at a table with Gabriel. Castiel cannot see Michael. Perhaps his brother is in another room. He is definitely present somewhere. Castiel focuses his attention on Sam.

The hunter is unrestrained. He is relaxed and calm. He is speaking to Gabriel.  
Castiel hones in on the conversation.

"Lucifer has to leave when I tell him to, right?" Sam says.

"Of course" Gabriel nods. "Angels can't force their vessels to bear them. Once we defeat the darkness, you can send him packing."  
Outside the window, Castiel frowns. He studies Sam Winchester again for a long moment and then he returns to the bunker.

Dean is pacing the length of the Library, but he swings around to face Castiel when the rustle of wings alerts him to the angel's arrival. "Damn it, Cas!"

"I found them," Castiel says. "Listen to me Dean."

"Where are they?"

"In a house, in Pasadena."

"OK." Dean snatches up his car keys and heads for the garage."

"Dean…" Castiel goes after him, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder to halt him. 

"I'm going to get my brother," Dean says, turning to face Castiel. "And your brother had better not get in my way or…"

"Dean, it's more complicated than that." Castiel meets the hunter's eyes. "Sam's not being held there. He could leave."

"What? Whadda you mean?"

"I mean," Castiel says. "Sam is staying with Gabriel by choice."

**Elsewhere**

_It's dark here, and cold. He can't speak. He feels confined or restrained. Perhaps it is merely weakness. His powers have deserted him. Where is he? Who is he?_

_He can't remember. Can't remember. But there was an angel. A long time ago, there was an angel._

_He's cold. It's dark. He can't remember._


	33. Chapter 33

**Lebanon Kansas: Men of Letters Bunker**

 

Dean meets Castiel's eyes, frowning with confusion. "What d'you mean, Sam's with Gabriel by choice?"

"I saw him, Dean. He was not restrained. He was not being compelled to stay in any way that I could sense." Castiel lets out a breath. "I believe Gabriel has deceived us from the outset."

"Okay." Dean returns to the table in the war room, pocketing his car keys. "I think you'd better tell me everything you know," he says. He pulls out a chair and sits down, indicating that Castiel should do the same. The angel nods and takes a seat.

"I found Gabriel, Sam and Michael in a house in Pasadena," Castiel says. "Sam was sitting at a table talking to Gabriel. I'm not sure where Michael was, but he was present. I just didn't see him in the room with them." He pauses. "When I arrived here, you said something about me being awake? What did you mean?"

"Cas. You've been in some kind of coma for a couple of weeks," Dean replies. "Before that, you were MIA. Then Crowley said you came back, and the minute you got to him, you passed out."

"I remember," Castiel said. "I… was thinking. When I came back, there was an...altercation between Crowley and myself. I saw a vision, of Michael. He said that I was being deceived and that I had to discover the truth...Then, I was...in another timeline."

"Right…" Dean is still frowning.

"I believe that other timeline was one of Gabriel's deceptions." Castiel shakes his head. "I should have realised…"

Dean cuts in. "Look, Cas. I get that you must be feeling confused. But let's try and stay on topic here. You said Gabriel has deceived us from the outset?"

"Yes. My brother has his own agenda. Again, I should have known." Castiel frowns. "His communication with Father via the breastplate was a lie. He didn't hear from God. He used the breastplate, and the Orishas as a distraction. He was only pretending to help us."

"But…" Dean says. "Why?"

"I think, to gain Sam's trust." Castiel sighs. "Gabriel planned to release Michael and Lucifer. Once released, of course, Lucifer would need a vessel. _His_ vessel."

"No way! Sam'd never agree to…"

"I think he already has. At least, he was close to agreeing when I saw him."

"Right!" Dean is on his feet. "We have to get to him. We have to stop this." He is halfway across the war room headed for the garage when Castiel lands in front of him. 

"Dean, it'll take hours to drive to Pasadena. Let me…" He raises two fingers towards the hunter's forehead.

"Hey!" Dean bats his hand away. "We discussed this, remember? You do that mojo thing, and I don't poop?"

"There are laxatives," Castiel growls. He presses his fingers to Dean's forehead. 

 

**A House in Pasadena**

 

"Damn it, Ca…" Dean is cut off as the angel puts a hand over his mouth, stifling his words.

"We should probably not alert them to our presence." When he is sure Dean will be quiet, Castiel removes his hand. 

"Your fingers smell like…"

"Dean!" Castiel hisses. He shoots the hunter a glare over his shoulder as he heads towards the house. 

Dean follows, muttering under his breath the whole way. As they approach the porch, he whispers. "I assume you've got a plan?"

"I'm going to knock on the door," Castiel says.

"What! Ca… are you out of your mind!?" Dean moves in front of the angel, blocking his path. "What, you're just gonna walk in there with Michael and…" He stops. Looking into the angel's puzzled eyes.

"They're my brothers." Castiel steps past Dean.

"Yeah, and one of them blew you to smithereens last time you saw him."

"No, that wasn't the last time. It was two times ago." Castiel keeps walking.

"Cas, willya wait up?!"

"There is no time." Castiel strides up the stairs to the front porch and raps loudly on the door.

Dean closes his eyes for a moment, then joins the angel on the front porch. "This is the most crazy-ass plan you ever came up with," he mutters. "Don't alert them to our presence," he mimics Castiel's gravelly tones. "And then you just walk on up and knock on the…Sam!"

The door swings open at that moment, and Dean finds himself face to face with his brother.

"Is it Sam?" Dean peers at the tall figure suspiciously.

"It's Sam," Castiel affirms.

"Dean, what are you doing here? How did you find us?"

"What am _I_ doing here?" Dean splutters. "I was about to ask you the same thing! Cas says you're all set to let Lucifer back into your meat."

"You'd better come in." Sam holds the door open wider and steps back to let them pass.

"Damn straight!" Dean pushes past Castiel and into the house. "You're coming home with us," he adds, turning in the entryway to glare at Sam.

"No, Dean. I'm not." Sam faces his brother, chin lifted high, eyes steadily holding Dean's gaze. "I'm going to do this. It was going to happen anyway. Those visions I've been having. They're not from God. They came from Lucifer, but it all makes sense, Dean! This is what I have to do to make this right."

"I call bullshit!" Dean scowls. "Now c'mon." He gestures to Castiel waving two fingers in the air. "Do your thing and get us outta here."

"I won't go," Sam says evenly. 

"Is everything alright, Sam?" Gabriel has come into the hallway. He looks from Dean to Sam, and then his gaze finds Castiel. "Yo," he says. "You're up."

"No thanks to you," Castiel growls.

"Oh, don't be like that. I didn't hurt you."

Castiel steps forward, his blade in hand and his eyes flash blue in the dim light of the hall. "You _killed_ Crowley!"

"Smote. I _smote_ the demon," Gabriel corrects. "Last time I saw him, he was alive. Barely."

" _You!_ " Castiel growls. He steps towards the archangel, but Gabriel vanishes, reappearing behind him. 

"Easy there, tiger." Gabriel says. "Don't make me call Michael."

Dean and Sam continue to argue the point but the two angels are intent only on each other. As though hearing his name, Michael suddenly appears in the hallway, The already cramped space seems to shrink impossibly further with the new presence. Castiel glances at Michael and backs down, his blade vanishing back into hiding. 

"Dean," Castiel says. "We should go."

"No argument from me," Dean replies. He makes a grab for Sam's arm, but his brother evades him. "Sam, c'mon!"

"I said no, Dean. I'm not going back. I have to do this." He looks to Gabriel. "I'll go with you."

"Awesome!" The trickster angel snaps his fingers and he, Sam, and Michael vanish.

"SAM!" Dean lunges at the empty space where his brother had been only seconds before. "Fuck!" Dean's fist smashes against the nearest wall, venting his frustration.

"Dean. You will injure yourself." Castiel lays a restraining hand on Dean's shoulder. 

"Lemme be!" Dean angrily shakes him off. He nurses his bruised knuckles and bows his head in defeat. "I can't believe he's really gonna do this."

Castiel lets out a breath. "He feels responsible. As do I. It was we, Sam, Crowley, Rowena and I who worked the spell to remove the mark." 

"D'you know where they've gone?"

"Probably back to Hell," Castiel says. "That's where Lucifer is waiting for them." He sighs. "We cannot go after them, yet. We need to be better prepared."

**Elsewhere**

_He still has no name, he still cannot move or speak. It's not weakness, he has realised. He is bound. But time has passed and he remembers. He knows that he is ancient. Not mere centuries, but millennia old. He has existed in time, and outside of it. He has seen civilizations rise and fall. He has seen wars and rebellions in heaven and beneath it. He has been mortal and he has been eternal. He IS eternal. He has no soul, though he has merged with souls throughout time. He knows himself and yet he does not know himself. But all the time, there was the angel. The bright being that loves him. He is the one constant. But how can that be? They've only known one another for… he can't remember. He can't move, he can't speak. He is bound._


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _IMPORTANT: This chapter is the one I have been waiting since the start of this story to write. It delves into my own head canon regarding Crowley. I have long had a fascination with one particular angel who fell with Lucifer. I won't say his name here, because you will find it out when you read the chapter._
> 
>  
> 
> _I feel that Crowley so perfectly fits what I know of this particular angel. 1. Being the King of demons and commander of 72 legions of demons. 2. He is considered the demon of lust and twists human sexual desires. 3. He possesses great sexual prowess and has been known to have sex with mortals (Crowley is also seen to do this) 4. He knows the location of hidden treasures and can be convinced to reveal them...for the right price._
> 
>  
> 
> _In the Talmud this fallen angel/demon is described as a somewhat good natured and humorous fellow. Other legends attribute a penchant for fine clothing to him. He is described as being, either the husband, or the son of Lillith. I have always thought that Crowley had a close association of some sort with Lillith and hence was able to take her place and crown himself King of Hell on her death. This angel/demon is said to be one of the Kings of Hell under Lucifer._
> 
>  
> 
> _In the novel: El diablo cojuelo, he is represented as a mischievious demon with a satirical genius and wit._
> 
>  
> 
> _These descriptions have always equated to Crowley in my mind._
> 
>  
> 
> _So, I hope that you will enjoy this bit of head canon._
> 
>  
> 
> _(I do have explanations for the whole son of a witch thing, too, but it's too long to go into here)_
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> **ENOCHIAN**  
>  _
> 
>  
> 
> _In this chapter I have used quite a lot of Enochian. I will give the translations at the end of the chapter. Where it is available, I have used Enochian that was used in Supernatural. For the phrases I wanted to use that are not used in the show, I have used an Enochian Translator which I found online. I am not a student of, nor a speaker of Enochian and any errors I have made must be put down to errors in the original canon language from the eps or to errors in the translator I used. I will also link to my sources at the end of the chapter._

**Somewhere (Elsewhere)**

_He hears the voice only faintly at first. It speaks in an ancient tongue. A tongue that he recognizes and which resonates on some level deep within him. He listens, concentrating all of his energies on bringing the voice into clear focus. He tries to make out the words._

_No, they're not words, exactly. They're letters. Spelled out individually, one letter after another, but they form words._

_VA TE CA RA_  
SAL- (VL) -D  
SALD  
Z BALIT  
SA TVLE  
  
_He has heard these words spoken before. He knows them as though they had been engraved upon his mind._

_It is a call, a summons. It throbs within him, around him, through him. It is a command. An ancient edict that was spoken the day he came into being. Yes. He knows it. He knows that he must reply, but how can he do so when he cannot speak?_

_It comes again._  
__  
VA TE CA RA  
SAL- (VL) -D  
Z BALIT  
SA TVLE 

_The voice is insistent, implacable. He **must** respond!_

_He focuses his energy now on trying to form the words._

_"Ca," he manages. A surge of triumph runs through him._

_"CA NA OM DAR BESS..."_

_The darkness around him grows infinitesimally lighter._

_VA TE CA RA_  
SALD  
Z BALIT  
SA TVLE  


_"CA NA OM DAR BESS!"_

_He feels the binding relax. He begins to feel warmer. There is a gentle wind that blows across his skin._

_The voice continues to speak to him, but now the words have changed._

_GOHE_  
MAD  
MONASCI  


_Another command that requires a response. He Doesn't know the answer. Search as he might within himself, he cannot find the information that the voice requires._

_GOHE_  
MAD  
MONASCI!  


_"I don't know," he says. "I don't remember!"_

**Lebanon Kansas; The Men of Letters Bunker**

"We can't go up against three archangels, Dean." Castiel's tone is edged with a trace of impatience. He has been arguing with the hunter for at least half an hour about going into hell to rescue Sam. "I understand that you're concerned for your brother, but we simply don't have the resources yet to face them. Michael, Grabriel, and especially Lucifer have the power to destroy us as easily as breathing."

"The longer we leave Sam with them the more chance there is that he's gonna say yes."

"I _know that_ , Dean." Castiel lets out a breath. He meets Dean's eyes. "There is another way of looking at this," he says. "Maybe this is a good thing."

"What? What possible way could Sam letting Lucifer jump into him be a good thing."

"The darkness was originally defeated by God and the archangels. Raphael is dead, but now we have three archangels. _if_ Lucifer has a vessel and can leave hell."

Dean simply stares at him, silent. His expression tells Castiel that the hunter truly thinks he has gone insane.

"I know it's not the ideal situation," Castiel goes on. "But with three archangels on our side, we may be able to work something out. Find someone else who is willing to fight with us. Gabriel says the Orishas do exist or…"

"Or there's Crowley," Dean says. "We'll just ask him to _loan_ us some demons!" He scowls. 

"That's not entirely the worst idea I've heard. However, Crowley is not in any position to assist us right now."

"Of course he's not!" Dean rolls his eyes.

"He's injured!" Castiel hopes that it's true, that the demon is not dead. "Gabriel smote him. If he was able, I believe he would help us. He was prepared to assist us already."

"I need a drink." Dean fetches a bottle of whiskey and opens it, tipping the neck of the bottle to his lips.

"That's not going to help," Castiel says. He takes the bottle from Dean before he can pour another slug down his throat.

"Wowser," Dean snipes, but he doesn't try to take the bottle back, He slumps down in a chair and puts his head in his hands, resting his elbows on the table. "It's probably too late to stop Sam anyway."

"Then our next step should be to offer to form an alliance," Castiel says. "We can at least be close to Sam that way."

**Elsewhere**

_GOHE_  
MAD  
MONASCI 

_"You're getting bloody repetitive and it's damned annoying! I told you, I don't remember. Yes, I know gohe mad monasci! I heard you the first forty times!"_

_He notices that there is more light than darkness surrounding him now. He still cannot see anything, but it is definitely lighter. He listens as the voice drones on, chanting the same call over and over._

_"Think!" he tells himself. "Give it what it wants and maybe it'll shut up!" Then he stills. There is something niggling the back of his mind. Words, in that ancient tongue. Bubbling up as if from deep water. Springing from within him somewhere hidden._

_"OH-LEH-NEE OH-AH-EE OH-EE-AH-DEH NOH-QUO-LEH OH-LEH OH-EE-AH-DEH ASMODEUS!"_

_Sudden, brilliant white light bursts all around him and he feels an impact against his chest. He hears a shout of triumph that rings and echoes through the space around him. His body is flooded with light. He has a body? His mind is clear. His limbs are strong and he sits up, blinking as words fall from his lips._

"I myself am holy amongst the just servants of God, Asmodeus!"

He blinks again, and slowly turns his head, taking in his surroundings. He's sitting on a bed. In hell. In _his chambers_ in hell. He gets up, standing a little shakily beside the bed and gently pushing aside the large hound that is attempting to lick his hands. He stares at the bed. Something is missing. Some _one_ is missing.

"Castiel!" He turns, taking in the rest of the room. "Where is he?"

The hound barks at him. 

"Quiet! I'm trying to think. How the hell did I get here? The last I remember, I was… bollocks! The cage!"

Memory floods back Gabriel arriving, asking to speak with Michael and Lucifer. Leading the archangel to the cage. The archangel smiting him and then being locked away somewhere in the dark.

"Asmodeus," he murmurs. "Asmodeus. The King of demons, commander of seventy-two legions of hell. Huh. I suppose it fits, but to hell with all that holy and just tripe. I gave that away the day I...fell...with Lucifer."

He needs a drink. "I much prefer Crowley," he says, as he goes to the sideboard in his study and pours a double measure of Craig into a glass. He downs it in one. Just for fortification and pours another. 

The angel is gone. That means that he must have woken up. There's no prize for guessing where the pigeon will be. Crowley sips his drink more slowly this time. He will just finish this one and then he'll go get his angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VA TE CA RA  
> SAL- (VL) -D  
> SALD  
> Z BALIT  
> SA TVLE  
> "You, celestial being have been created to be an angel of the Lord"
> 
> CA NA OM DAR BESS  
> We work as your instrument
> 
> GOHE  
> MAD  
> MONASCI
> 
> Speak your name
> 
> OH-LEH-NEE OH-AH-EE OH-EE-AH-DEH NOH-QUO-LEH OH-LEH OH-EE-AH-DEH, ASMODEUS  
> I myself am holy amongst the just servants of God, Asmodeus.  
> or  
> I am the angel of the Lord, Asmodeus.
> 
>  
> 
> **Sources**
> 
>  
> 
> <http://tikaboo.com/enochian.jsp>  
> <http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=Enochian>


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: I'm sorry it has been a while since I posted an update on this story. I got a bit bogged down in research. As usual for me, I did way more research than was probably needed for this chapter, but I would rather do that, than post in a hurry and get things wrong._
> 
>  
> 
> _There is a brief mention of the Witch trials and exorcisms at Loudun france in 1634 in this chapter. I have posted a link at the end in case anyone wants to read more on this fascinating event from Church history._  
> 

**Lebanon, Kansas: Men of Letters Bunker**

Crowley arrives quietly, landing in the war room. He stands for a moment, contemplating the map of the world drawn on the long table. It is active. Small lights flashing here and there across the map. Alerts that the darkness is active in the world, he presumes. He looks up, glancing around the room. He can sense the warding in the walls of the bunker. Someday, he might tell the Winchesters about the codicil in the sigils that allows anything that was previously invited to enter at will. But today is not that day.

The bunker is quiet and at first, Crowley thinks that no one is home. He paces across the war room and up the three steps into the library. Castiel is seated at a table, poring over some book of lore. Seeing him, Crowley smiles.

"Hello, Kitten."

Castiel startles. He turns to look at the demon. "Crowley," he says and then his eyes narrow. He studies the demon carefully, his gaze travelling over him from head to foot and back again. Those sharp, blue eyes lock with his own. He stands up and walks closer. "I thought…" but he doesn't finish the sentence. His expression is puzzled. He stops in front of Crowley, frowning.

Crowley smirks. "See something you fancy?" 

Castiel doesn't reply, doesn't show any hint of amusement. He continues to hold Crowley's gaze. After a long moment, he says, his voice edged with threat. "Who are you?"

Scowling, the demon holds his hands out to the sides, palm up. "Crowley! Who do I look like?"

"You're wearing Crowley's vessel," the angel replies, "but you're an angel. One whom I've never met."

"Ah. That." Crowley lets his hands fall to his sides, and then, shuffling his feet, pushes his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. His cover blown, he shrugs and meets Castiel's eyes. "I'm still Crowley," he says. "But I was once called Asmodeus."

He fidgets under the angel's sudden, intense scrutiny. He feels as though those blue eyes pierce to the core of his being. It rankles. He lifts his chin defiantly. "Are you _quite_ done?"

"One of the original fallen," Castiel says softly. "You possessed the nuns at Loudun."

"I was _accused_ of possessing them," Crowley replies. "There's a difference. Okay, so maybe I decided to play with the exorcists after the nun mentioned my name. It was an open invitation, but I never once possessed any nun...that time." He wonders how it is possible for Castiel to narrow his eyes so much without actually closing them. "I'm telling the truth!"

"There was a contract," Castiel persists. "Your name is on it.

"A forgery." Crowley scoffs. "Read the history books, Pigeon! Anyone with half a brain, even half a birdbrain like yours, can see that priest was innocent. He was too outspoken and the powers that were got rid of him. Remind you of anyone?"

Castiel scowls and is about to speak when Dean Winchester comes into the room. The angel clamps his lips shut, but the look he gives Crowley tells him the discussion is far from over.

"Find anything?" Dean speaks to Castiel, his eyes flick to Crowley for an instant before he looks away.

"Hello," Crowley snarks. Why can't these neanderthals learn some manners? "My mother raised me to greet a visitor."

The only response is a shrug from Dean and a glare from the angel. Crowley shakes his head and takes a seat at the table Castiel had been at. He idly flicks through the pages of the book the angel was reading.

Castiel turns to Dean. "Nothing of any use. I still say it is best to make an offer of an alliance. We'd at least be close to Lucifer and know what he is planning."

Crowley scoffs. "Good luck with that. Lucifer has major trust issues. Especially with your type." An arch glance at Castiel.

"Do you have a better suggestion?" The angel's blue eyes fix on him and again Crowley has to restrain the urge to squirm. It's the grace, he decides. He's suddenly keenly aware of it, and his own disgrace. 

He covers; buffs his nails against the lapel of his coat. "I supposed _I_ could get close to him. Lucifer and I...we go back." He pointedly meets Castiel's eyes.

"So you get close to him," Dean steps forward. "What then?"

"Dean…" Castiel says.

The hunter waves him off. "Can you get my…"

Crowley rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes...save my brother," he sing-songs. He stands up ready to depart, but the angel puts a hand on his arm. 

"I'm going with you." His tone allows no room for argument and Crowley shrugs. "Suit yourself." He teleports to Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may help the reader here to have some understanding of the Witch Trials of Loudun France 1634   
> [https://en.wikipedia.og/wiki/Loudun_possessions](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Loudun_possessions)


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _There are several accounts in the Bible of angels breaking people out of prison. These accounts don't give a specific name to the angel involved, merely calling him "an angel of the Lord" or "The angel of the Lord." In this chapter, I have attributed those jailbreaks to Gabriel. If it's possible to have Biblical head canon, this is mine! ;)_

**Near the entrance to Hell**

No sooner are they _stans in inferno_ than the demon finds himself slammed against a wall, an angel blade at his throat and the owner of said blade in his face.

“D’you mind? These bloody walls are filthy! This is a new suit.” His tone is sorely aggrieved.

“Release him,” Castiel hisses.

“Release whom?” Crowley winces as the blade presses against his skin. 

“Asmodeus, now is not the time for games!” Blue eyes dark with righteous fury bore into his own. “Leave this vessel. Now!”

“If I do that, all you'll be left with is a rotting corpse. I'm not cohabiting with Crowley. I _am Crowley_.”

"You're lying."

"I've never lied to you, Cassie. Not once."

The angel scowls. "Don't call me that. Only my brothers call me that."

Crowley slowly moves one hand until his fingertips rest on the gleaming blade at his throat. He gently pushes it away. "Sorry," he says. "But we are technically related."

"Crowley has never called me by that name." Castiel lets the blade slide away into hiding. "He rarely refers to me by name at all."

"I know, Kitten. Pigeon, Bird Brain." Crowley lets a smile touch his lips for a moment.

"And you have," Castiel says. "Lied to me. If what you say is true, you've been deceiving me from the moment we met."

"Not lied," the demon counters. "Omitted to tell the entire truth, perhaps. It's a subtle difference, but even so…"

Castiel steps closer suddenly, one hand snagging a fistful of Crowley's shirt and jerking him against the angel. The demon winces, tensing, ready to fight or flee as needed. He looks up into darkened blue eyes and wonders if this will be the end of him once and for all. He parts his lips, draws a breath, willing to bargain, if not plead for his life. The angel tips his head on an angle, wide eyes still holding Crowley's, and then, he kisses the demon hard.

The sound that comes from Crowley's throat is mingled surprise and delight as he opens wider, yielding to a demanding tongue. Yes, he's missed this. Won't even try to deny it. All those weeks the angel lay comatose in Crowley's bed were not borne easily. He sucks Castiel's tongue, nips it, and then chases it back into the angel's mouth with his own.

He is rammed against the wall again, and who gives a fuck about his new suit? He runs his hands over Castiel's shoulders and up into that designer bed-head, ruffling the strands of hair further with his tender-rough caresses. Castiel groans and pulls Crowley closer, strong arms encircling the demon as they forget their location, their mission and everything else for several long, luscious moments of rediscovery.

When they draw apart, a silvery string of saliva keeps their lips connected for an instant, and Crowley forgets to be bothered by it. He wipes the fingers of his right hand across his lips and looks into Castiel's eyes. "Convinced?" he purrs.

"Yes." The angel turns to look along the hallway, the moment forgotten as he starts to walk. "We must find Sam," he says.

"So much for afterglow," Crowley snarks as he falls into step with the angel.

 

**Lower reaches of Hell: Vicinity of the Cage**

Castiel's senses are alert, alive with the knowledge that his brothers are no longer confined to the cage. He slows his pace as he discerns they're near where Lucifer, Michael and Gabriel have gathered. He cannot detect Sam Winchester, but that may only be because of the warding etched into the hunter's ribs. If he thought it would make a difference, Castiel would pray that were so. He knows heaven has stopped listening to his prayers.

Crowley leads the way into a large, open chamber. There is a cage set in the middle of it, but the cage is shattered, along with the floor immediately surrounding it, and three of the four walls. The room looks as if an earthquake has struck it. Castiel recognizes Gabriel's handiwork. The archangel has a talent for spectacular jailbreaks.*

Standing in tableau in front of the shattered cage, Castiel sees Gabriel, Michael and Lucifer, who is wearing Sam Winchester as his vessel. A sinking feeling of failure sweeps over him. Castiel bows his head for a moment. He has failed Dean, again. Castiel glances at Crowley, who has stopped slightly behind him. The demon is silent. His dark eyes focused on Lucifer.

"Asmodai…" Sam-Lucifer steps forward, moving towards Castiel. "I'm impressed."

"I _told_ you I could get him here," Crowley replies. 

Castiel's head snaps around, a question forming on his lips as he meets Crowley's eyes. "What…"

"Brother," Lucifer puts a hand on Castiel's shoulder, pulling the angel's attention back to him. "It's so good to see you again."

Castiel frowns. "I'm not your brother," he says. "Release Sam Winchester."

Lucifer's lips quirk in a smile. "Oh, Cassiel, you never change, do you?"

"My name is _Castiel_!"

"Are you sure about that?" Lucifer presses his fingers to the angel's forehead and a star explodes inside Castiel's mind."


	37. Chapter 37

**In Hell: Crowley's Chambers:**

 

_Satan. Belial. Son of Perdition. Deceiver. Father of Lies. Adversary. Prince of the powers of the air. Roaring Lion. Little horn. Beelzebub. Anointed Cherub. Morning Star. Light Bringer._

_"Are you sure about that... Are you sure about… are you sure...?"_

Castiel tosses fitfully on the bed, muttering incoherently. His vessel sweats. Burns with fever and quakes with chills by turns. Watching him, Crowley (Asmodeus) scowls.

"This again? You know, I wonder sometimes if it might be better were our brothers to keep their bloody hands to themselves!" He shakes his head puts his hands on the angel's shoulders, holding him down as Castiel almost flings himself from the bed. "How long this time, pigeon?"

_The touch of Lucifer sent Castiel reeling through an explosion of light, cosmic in its size and power. He fell, and fell and fell through spectrums and worlds and galaxies. He reeled and tossed through time and dimensions. For a long time, he was lost. Then a voice spoke from the light and called his name._

_"Cassiel."_

_"I am here, Lord."_ _"_

_You are created an angel of God."_

_"I live to serve you."_

_"You are anointed."_

_"I am Cassiel."_

_Time slips and he falls again. The light grows dimmer. Aeons pass in a single heartbeat. He lands, heavily, winded. He is on earth. He is envesseled. He clambers to his feet, steps forward and pitches headlong to the ground. He cries out. Struggles to stand once more. He feels weakened._ _"You have chosen. Watch." The voice speaks and then fades._ _Cassiel frowns. He looks around. He stands upon the shores of a great body of water. An ocean. He sees a small fish pull itself to shore and flounder upon the land. He watches it draw its first gasping breath of dry air. "It will die."_

_"No." His brother, Balthazar speaks at his side. "It will live. Don't step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish."_

_"My name is…" He doesn't finish the sentence. Cassiel is no longer his name. He has chosen._

_**"Are you sure about that? Are you sure? Are you..."?"** _

_Centuries roll by. He watches the rise and fall of empires, the rise of men and kings and warriors. He watches the first murder. He watches the first war and every conflict after it. He must never intervene. Miracles are permitted but not often. Even rarer as time progresses and belief falls away._

_"Miracles can't become commonplace. If that happens well...they won't be miracles anymore."_ _A familiar voice._

_Castiel reaches for it. "Asmo…" but time spins once more and the voice is lost._

_"You're the famous spanner in the works. Honestly, I think you came off the line with a crack in your chassis. You have never done what you were told. Not completely. You don't even die right, do you?"_

_"Naomi?!" Something silver and metallic crowds his vision. Castiel screams. Tries to fling himself away from the pain he knows will come._

"Cassie!" Crowley presses harder against the writhing form on the bed. The angel screams. A desperate cry filled with fear and pain. He redoubles his efforts to break free and it is all Crowley can do to hold him.

"But I chose them," Castiel mutters through clenched teeth. "I chose _them!_ "

_Satan. Belial. Son of Perdition. Deceiver. Father of Lies. Adversary. Prince of the powers of the air. Roaring Lion. Little horn. Beelzebub. Anointed Cherub. Morning Star. Light Bringer._

The touch of the light bringer bestows enlightenment. It has been so since the dawn of creation. Since the serpent spoke to Eve in the garden. The touch of Lucifer brings knowledge. Knowledge is light. Knowledge is freedom.

Castiel wakes with a cry and struggles for a moment against hands that pin him down. His eyes slowly focus and he finds himself looking into a familiar face. "Asmodeus," he says.

"I prefer Crowley," the demon replies. He slowly eases the pressure on Castiel's shoulders. "Have a nice nap?"

"It was...confusing." Castiel sits up, rubs a hand across his face. "Where...are the others?"

"Reconnoitring, carousing. Either or. Possibly both." Crowley moves to a side table, pours a measure of whiskey and offers it to Castiel. The angel takes it, downs it in one swallow. "Do you remember?"

"Much." Castiel frowns. He meets Crowley's eyes. "I...I'm not…"

"Oh, but you are. You really are."

"Cassiel."

the angel closes his eyes. "I left that behind," he says. "A long time ago."

"Yes. Well. Time to pick it up again, ducky." Crowley pours himself a drink, regards the angel from across the room. "Needs must, and all that. You think _I_ wanted to be reminded of all that ancient history?"

Castiel studies him. Shakes his head. "No."

"You chose them," you said. Crowley sips his drink. "Well, it looks like you have to step up to the plate. If you want to save humanity, you've got to take up your sword, angel...archangel. You've got to take some strange, and not very appealing bedfellows."

"You tricked me. Bringing me here."

"Hardly, Love." Asmodeus smiles behind Crowley's eyes. "You came here of your own free will. To save Moose, remember?" A pause. "Mind you, I would have resorted to trickery, had it been necessary. But you...you're so tangled up with those bloody hunters. Just the wiff of a singed eyelash and you'll throw yourself into hellfire after them. Not that it's so much _fire_ these days. I've refined the process somewhat, as you know."

Castiel sighs. "You. Talk. Too much." He rubs his forehead, an all too human gesture.

"Headache?" Crowley smirks.

"No. Something. Something is very, very wrong!" Castiel startles as his cell phone rings shrilly in his pocket.

 

**Lebanon Kansas: Men of Letters Bunker - War Room:**

 

Dean Winchester stands in front of the table in the war room, staring at the blinking lights on the world map. He frowns as more and more lights wink on. They form a weird, swirling pattern centered over an island off the coast of Florida. He leans his hands on the table, looking closer. "No, not an Island," he murmurs. "Open ocean… Wait, isn't that…?" Dean swallows hard. He pulls his phone from a pocket and speed dials Castiel. "Cas? it's me. I think you'd better come to the bunker. Something...big is going down. You hafta see this."

 


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: This chapter is really quite short, and I tossed up whether to post it or whether to add more to it and then post it, but in the end I decided I would put this one up, because the next part of the story is quite complex and might take some time to write, so posting this now, would mean there won't be as long a gap between chapters...or something like that. It might still mean a long gap anyway depending on how challenging it is to write what comes next._
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> _Anyway, this chapter deals with some stuff that is considered to be pseudo-science. Still I thought that it lent itself well to the whole Darkness and Release of Lucifer thing. I hope you enjoy it!_  
> 

**Lebanon Kansas: Men of Letters Bunker: War Room**

 

Castiel leans his hands on the map table, studying the blinking lights with a frown. Beside him, Dean Winchester waits impatiently, whilst the King of Hell sprawls in a chair on the other side of the table, idly sipping from a glass of Whiskey.

"The areas of activity are spreading," Castiel murmurs. As he speaks, he points out two more patterns of swirling lights on the map. He glances at Crowley.

"But that first one." Dean points to the largest area on the map. "That _is_ in the Bermuda Triangle, right?"

"Yes. The _Devil's_ Triangle," Castiel confirms. He points out another area on the map, close to Japan. "This one is called The Devil's Sea." He lets out a breath and shakes his head. "Those two are the most powerful of the Vile Vortices, but there are another ten."

"Vile Vortices?" Dean frowns at him. "Why do I get the feeling this is not gonna end well?"

Castiel meets his eyes. "Because it probably won't," he deadpans. "Somthing is energizing the vortices." He turns back to the map. "The Earth is divided into a grid. There are Ley Lines all across the globe. Where the lines intersect, they form vortices. There are five in the Northern Hemisphere, another five in the South." Castiel indicates points on the map. "The last two are located at the North and South Poles."

"Okay, so somthing energizes them, and then what?"

"Chaos," Crowley interrupts. "Mass hysteria, blah blah blah."

Castiel scowls. He turns to Dean. "If all of the vortices become energized at once, then it will release vast amounts of negative energy on the world." He glances at Crowley. "And, more than likely, create chaos."

"Great!" Dean palms his face and casts a bleak eye over the map. "Do you think the darkness is causing this?"

"It's possible," Castiel replies. "But it could also be Lucifer's work."

"How do we stop it?"

"I...don't know."

"Dammit, Cas! Is that all you can say these days? I _don't know?_ " Dean steps in close to the angel, in his face. "We have to do _something!_ We can't just keep standing idly by while the darkness or Lucifer or hell only knows what, rips the planet apart!" His voice gets progressively louder as he speaks and he is eyeball to eyeball with Castiel.

"That's enough!" Crowley is suddenly, somehow, between them and Dean is repelled backwards away from Castiel. "You need to show a little respect, boy. Do you know who you're speaking to?"

"Crowley." Castiel puts a hand on the demon's shoulder.

The king turns his head. "It's true," he says. "This...worm has no right to speak to an A…"

"Crowley!" Blue eyes lock with brown and the pair seem to have a silent exchange while Dean watches, frowning.

After a moment, the demon relaxes. "All right," he concedes. He shoots Dean a louring glance as he backs down. "Just mind your tongue, Squirrel."

"I think," Castiel says. "The first thing we need to do, is establish who, or what is energizing the vortices."

Dean nods his agreement.

"Once we know that, we can try to plan our next step," Castiel adds. "Crowley and I can reconnoitre faster alone." He holds up a hand as Dean is about to protest. "It won't take long, Dean." With that, Castiel and Crowley vanish, leaving Dean fuming in their wake.

 


	39. Chapter 39

**Lebanon Kansas: Men of Letters Bunker: Kitchen**

 

Dean is standing in the kitchen of the Bunker, reaching into the fridge for a beer when Castiel returns. The angel is alone. He has been gone approximately two minutes. The hunter starts to protest when the angel pushes him away from the fridge and snatches the bottle from his hand.

"Dean, you need to come to Miami Beach," Castiel says, cutting off Dean's words before they're half formed.

"Okay, jeeze! I'll get on the road just gimme…"

"There's no  _ time!"  _ Castiel slaps a hand on Dean's shoulder and the world spins and tumbles and it's all Dean can do, not to throw up.  _ Fucking mojo!  _ Dean has told the angel  _ before _ that he doesn't like to fly Angel Airlines.

 

**Miami Beach Florida**

 

They land, somewhere, a moment later. Dean is disoriented from the flight, and it's not helped by the pitch darkness that surrounds him. There is a sound like wind, or a turbine engine. High, keening. Dean shakes his head. 

"I thought you couldn't time travel," he says.

"I didn't." Castiel is somewhere beside him, but Dean's can't see him. Dean lifts a hand in front of his face and peers into the impenetrable blackness. He can't see a damn thing. This is not right. This is utterly, utterly wrong!

"What time is it?"

"It's 3:45PM," Castiel replies.

Dean mutters a curse under his breath. "This...this is the darkness?"

"You think?" Crowley's voice, snarky and impatient, reaches him from somewhere.

"Can you strike a match or something?" Dean is starting to feel dizzy. The keening wind noise is still all around them, but he can make out other sounds now. The sound of crashing surf. A few muffled, distant voices. A soft glow springs up to his right. 

"I have to be cautious," Castiel says. "I'm not sure what we're facing."

Dean stares at the very gentle blue light for a long time before he works out what he is looking at. "Cas?" Dean can't manage more than that. The angel stands a couple feet away from him. He's just the usual Castiel, messy hair, trench coat, dark suit, but then, he's not. Dean gazes, slack jawed. Castiel's wings are visible. Well kind of visible. They're sort of outlined in a soft blue glow that just barely pierces the surrounding darkness. It's the first time Dean has seen Castiel's wings since that first night that he met the angel.

Back then, they'd been just dark shadows behind the angel's shoulders. There'd been feathers missing then, but now, the wings are glorious. 

"I thought your wings burned up when you fell," Dean says. His voice is low, awed. "I thought…"

"Yes," Castiel says. "I lost most of my feathers. I was cut off from heaven's power and I could not repair them."

Dean frowns in confusion. "So...how?"

Castiel turns to look at Dean. The wings extend out to the sides a little as he moves. It reminds Dean of an eagle catching its balance when it lands. His breath hitches in his throat and he's suddenly just a little afraid of his friend.

"Don't be afraid," Castiel says. "My wings are healed because…"

"Cassie!" another, familiar voice cuts in on what Castiel is about to say.

Dean and Castiel both swing around to face the speaker and Castiel's angel blade appears in his hand. He takes a protective stance in front of Dean.

"Lucifer." Castiel says at the same moment that Dean says, "Sam!"

"Cas wins round one," Lucifer says. He turns to Dean and Sam's features twist in a commiserating smirk. "Sorry, Sam's not available to take your call. Don't bother leaving a message." He peers into the darkness over Dean's shoulder. "Asmodeus, remind me to give you...something, later. Your work recently has been  _ outstanding! _ "

"My Liege," Crowley's voice responds from the gloom.

"Cassiel," Lucifer says, his eyes shifting back to Castiel. "You don't have to fight me. I'm not going to hurt Dean. We need him."

"What have you done, Lucifer?" Castiel's voice is a low growl and he takes a step towards the archangel, blade raised.

"Nuh-ah!" Lucifer raises a hand, his index finger extended. " _ Not _ wise, brother." From nowhere, Gabriel and Michael appear flanking Lucifer. Like Castiel's their wings are manifested and glow faintly. Gabriel's with a soft golden halo around them, and Michael's a dazzling, pure white.

Castiel flares his wings, arcing them high above his head. Behind him, Dean staggers back a pace. The wings are enormous. Despite Castiel having told him not to be afraid, Dean  _ is _ . He's a lone mortal surrounded by angelic beings, a demon and whatever the hell is causing the pitch darkness. It's not normal night. The sky has no stars, there's no moon, and not a glimmer of man made light anywhere. For a moment, Dean considers taking to his heels. It's dark, but that might work in his favour. Maybe he can get away before anyone notices. They're all kinda fixated on each other just now. He edges sideways. The surface beneath his feet gives a little. Sand, maybe. They're on the beach? Dean bites his lip and chances another sidestep. 

_ None of this is making any sense, _ Dean tells himself.  _ Who the hell is Asmodeus? Why did Crowley answer to that? And how did Cas get his wings back?  _ Whatever the answers to those questions, Dean has decided he doesn't want to stick around to find out. He takes another shuffling side step and then he turns and bolts.

He can't see where he's going. He can only pray there are no obstacles in his path. His heart beats hard and fast and his legs pump against the sand as he runs for his life.

"Come  _ back _ here!" Sam's voice, edged with the kind of indulgent exasperation a doting parent uses with a mischievous child. Dean feels his feet leave the ground and a second later he sprawls face down at Lucifer's feet. The archangel casually places a foot in the small of his back. "I said we need you," he says conversationally. "True, we need you  _ alive _ but that doesn't mean you have to be whole, if you catch my drift?" His foot presses down against Dean's spine, painfully. "Hold still, or I'll find a way to  _ make _ you."

Dean spits out a mouthful of sand and turns his head to glare up at Lucifer as best he can. "Let my brother go you son of a…"

"Shut up."

Dean's voice dies in his throat.

"Now," Lucifer turns his attention to Castiel. "Shall we talk?"


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _My place is here, I fight with you!  
>  Marius - Les Miserables (The Opera)_

**Miami Beach: Florida**

 

There is a taut, drawn out silence between the angels. Dean still lies pinned beneath Lucifer's foot. He dare not move. The threat in Sam/Lucifer's voice when he commanded Dean to hold still was palpable. He squints up at Castiel from the corner of his eyes. Silently, Dean prays that the Angel has a plan, or can think of some way to get them out of this. Castiel is still in an offensive stance, his blade in hand, leaning towards Lucifer. Dean has to give him points for chutzpah. 

His eyes track to the wings at Castiel's back. Fascinated, he studies them. Long, sleek, black feathers flow down from the powerful bony edges which are lined with myriads of smaller feathers. Each feather is tipped in blue light, making the outline of the wings burn with some kind of…  _ halo? _ Dean asks himself. Is that what the religious artists had been trying to capture when they outlined angelic beings in a nimbus of light? Because, now that he looks, he notices that the angels glow faintly wherever clothing doesn't conceal their forms. All of them. Except for Lucifer. Dean can't see Crowley but he doubts that demons glow in the same way angels do anyway. He shifts a little and Lucifer's foot presses down harder. Dean closes his eyes. He holds his breath.  _ C'mon, Cas. You hafta get us outta here. _

"Why do you need Dean Winchester?" Castiel says quietly. He holds Lucifer's gaze steadily. Not giving an inch.

"Cassiel." Lucifer's expression turns pitying. "I thought you'd have worked that out for yourself."

Frowning, Castiel glances down at Dean, and then, he knows. "The Righteous Man," he says.

"Bravo!" Lucifer applauds slowly. "I knew you'd get it."

"Let him up."

"I think not. He's comfortable. You're comfortable, aren't you Dean?" As he speaks, Lucifer grinds his heel into Dean's spine and the hunter cries out in pain.

"Stop!" Castiel raises his blade, lunges forward. Crowley steps in, grabs the angel's arm and pulls him back sharply.

"Don't be an imbecile!"

"You!" Castiel swings around, wings flapping for balance and brings the blade to his lover's throat. "Traitor!" he growls through gritted teeth.

"That's a bit rich!" Crowley protests. "You were the one suggesting an alliance!"

"He's right," Dean grits between teeth clenched against pain. "You said that we should suggest an alliance days ago." He cries out as Sam's foot digs harder into his flesh.

"An alliance?" Lucifer says thoughtfully. "It's not like I need your  _ willing _ cooperation, you understand. I have plenty of leverage." He smooths his hands over the vessel he wears and lifts his foot to deliver a solid kick to Dean's ribs. "Still. If we could reach an amicable arrangement without the boring-not to mention utterly futile…"

There is a sudden increase of pressure in the air around them, and the high pitched keening sound that has lent background to this point grows louder. 

"Show time," Lucifer says. He tips his head to one side, as he meets Castiel's eyes. "Well, what'll it be, Cassie? The money, or the box?" 

Castiel's gaze travels over the three archangels. Gabriel meets his eyes and his lips twitch in a faint smile. There is nothing in his expression but the love that he and Cassiel have shared from the beginning. He makes no move nor says anything to influence his brother's decision. Michael looks bored, going so far as to roll his eyes when Cassiel tries to meet his gaze. Then he looks away, turning his face toward the louring sky overhead.

Lucifer stands passively. Silent. He has lifted his foot from Dean's back and the hunter has clambered to his feet, standing bound to the spot a little in front of Lucifer. Dean's gaze is focused intently at a point over Castiel's shoulder. 

Following that gaze, Castiel turns and cannot constrain a gasp as he takes in what Dean is looking at.

Crowley stands where he had been when Castiel held his blade to the demon's throat. His head is bowed, eyes heavily lidded and Castiel can't read his expression. Drooping at Crowley's back, a pair of blighted wings. The small covert feathers across the leading edges are unkempt. Some of them appear scorched, others are twisted out of shape. The primary, secondary and tertial feathers have grown in wrong, as though after a bad molt. The primaries in particular are gnarled and tangled around each other. Some of them are missing altogether. What feathers still exist are a dark crimson in colour. Castiel blinks, shock and grief washing over him. He takes a step forward, instinctively reaching to smooth and preen the frizzled coverts.

"Don't!" The word is almost a yelp, and the fallen angel stumbles away from his touch. "Don't touch them!" He raises eyes filled with agony to meet Cassiel's gaze. 

"Who did this to you?" Castiel asks.

"I did." Crowley shivers and tucks the wings away. "I chose it when I followed Lucifer." His expression becomes defiant. " _ Don't _ pity me, either! I knew what I was doing. I understood the consequences. I've always known what I am, Cassiel. I've never hidden from it."

"Your grace…" Castiel starts.

"Gone. I tore it out." Crowley's eyes are cold, empty. "I wanted nothing of  _ God _ anymore." He glances at Lucifer. "The story goes that Lilith was the first demon. She was the first  _ created _ demon. But  _ I _ was the first demon by choice."

"This is all very touching," Lucifer cuts in. "But in case you've forgotten? We have a darkness to subdue. I need your decision, Cassiel."

Castiel doesn't acknowledge Lucifer. He gazes into Crowley's eyes for a long, tense moment. He has known the demon for a long time. At first, by reputation. Later, by experience. He can't understand how he didn't realise before now, that Crowley is a fallen angel.  _ I've never lied to you, Cassie. Not once. _ Crowley had told him, and yet. He had never told the entire truth, either. There are many questions yet unanswered, but Castiel can't ask them now. Lucifer is right, there are more important things to do.

_ I've always known what I am, Cassiel. I've never hidden from it. _

Castiel draws a long breath and lets it out slowly. He cannot say the same. He has deliberately hidden from his own true identity. He chose not to fall with Lucifer, but he also chose not to side with God. He chose humanity. Long ago, he had fallen in love with the glimpse of a human soul. He had abandoned his rank, relinquished his title and exiled himself to earth to live amongst the guardians of mankind.

"I was a hypocrite," he murmurs, turning to Gabriel. "I condemned you for hiding yourself away, when I have done the same thing."

Gabriel shrugs carelessly. "You had your reasons, kid." He smiles. "Humans, huh? They get under your feathers."

Cassiel smiles slightly. "The time for hiding is passed," he says. He looks into Lucifer's eyes. "I'll fight with you."


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N So, okay. First of all. I'm sorry! I didn't really see this coming until I sat down to write it, but all I can say is the muse made me do it! I really really hope she knows what she's doing and how to fix this. Poor Dean! Sorry!_
> 
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> 
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> _Secondly. I have given Lucifer his proper Biblical rank of Cherub in this chapter. I do know that Supernatural ranks him as an archangel, but he is so so much more and it seems sad, to me, to lump him in with the archangels when in the Bible he was the brightest and best of God's heavenly children. "The Cherubim that covers" He literally guarded the throne of God. He was the light and love of heaven, and I couldn't demote him when it came right down to it._
> 
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> _This is the Bible's description of Lucifer in the Book of Ezekiel Chapter 28_
> 
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> _“ ‘You were the seal of perfection,_  
>  full of wisdom and perfect in beauty.  
> You were in Eden,  
> the garden of God;  
> every precious stone adorned you:  
> carnelian, chrysolite and emerald,  
> topaz, onyx and jasper,  
> lapis lazuli, turquoise and beryl.  
> Your settings and mountings were made of gold;  
> on the day you were created they were prepared.  
> You were anointed as a guardian cherub,  
> for so I ordained you.  
> You were on the holy mount of God;  
> you walked among the fiery stones.  
> You were blameless in your ways  
> from the day you were created  
> until wickedness was found in you.
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> _That, is no mere archangel. I hope my readers will forgive me tampering with canon, but in the game of Kripke, Carver, Gamble, Singer, Bible, the bible trumps them all ;p_  
> 

**Miami Beach: Florida**

 

For a long moment after Cassiel agrees to join Lucifer and his brothers, there is silence on the beach. In the near distance, Dean can hear what sounds like hundreds of sirens. He can make out police, fire brigade and ambulances. He wonders what is going on in the wider world. His focus has been so narrowed to the beach where they stand, that he'd almost forgotten that there are other people on the planet who can be hurt by whatever the hell is going down here.

A voice speaks over a PA system somewhere, but the words are garbled by distance. No doubt the authorities advising people to stay indoors.

Around them, the pitch darkness has, if anything grown even thicker. The air is still, breathless the way it gets before a summer storm. Surf pounds against the shore. Dean can feel spray hitting his face. But there is no wind to carry it here.

There is a sudden rush of sound overhead, like the myriad wings of bats flying out of a cave. The sky boils with sudden clouds that flash red and green and Dean almost chokes on the smell of sulfur.

"Ah," Crowley says. "My hordes. Right on time. Seventy-two legions of hell, My Liege. At your command."

Lucifer smiles. "Michael," he says. "Call your armies."

Dean looks at the archangel who doesn't move, or make a sound, but all the same, there is a response overhead. A vortex of swirling blue-white light erupts in the sky. Dean looks up at the demons and angels. He frowns.

"Where did they come from? I thought the angels had no leader now?"

"Old habits die hard," Michael replies with a sneer. "They hear my trumpet and they answer."

"Now," Lucifer says. "It's time to really get this party started." Stepping forward, he reaches to frame Dean's face between his hands. His touch is like ice, and Dean shudders.

"Take your hands off me!" He tries, and fails to step away from Lucifer. His feet won't obey him. "Cas?"

"Shh." Lucifer strokes Dean's cheeks with his thumbs. "Everything's okay, Dean. It's me, Sam. Just… you gotta trust me, here, okay?"

Looking up, Dean meets Sam's eyes. It is his brother. He can tell. "Sammy?" he breathes. "I...Sam why'd you?"

"It's okay. I promise. It's gonna be okay, Dean." Sam leans in and presses his lips to Dean's kissing him, slow and tender.

At first, Dean resists, but then, as Sam flicks his tongue against Dean's lips, he parts them, giving his brother access. It's been so long, too long since he had Sam's touch, his kisses. He lets himself relax and go with it. He feel's Sam's fingers slide to the back of his neck and a shiver runs through him. In his mind, there is a flash of Lucifer snapping his spine and a cold hand clutches at his gut. He tries to pull away, but Sam/Lucifer holds him fast.

The icy fingers within him tighten. He feels a tugging sensation inside, somewhere just below his heart. His head swims, he hears a hundred whispering voices in his mind. Something tears loose. Dean groans in pain and his struggles become earnest. He's fighting for air, desperate to break away and pull oxygen into his lungs but the icy grip within him is relentless. He feels suddenly adrift. His mind won't focus. A deep and unnatural calm falls over him.

Dean opens his eyes as Sam's mouth pulls away from his. He looks on passively as Lucifer steps back, a trailing, silvery wisp of something shining for an instant between his lips. The light is there, and then it is gone. Dean's soulless eyes merely gaze dispassionately at the archangel He doesn't resist when Crowley steps up and places a hand on his arm.

The demon leads Dean aside. As they pass him, Cassiel says,"Dean?" Dean doesn't respond. Doesn't acknowledge Castiel at all.

Cassiel half turns, takes a step to follow Dean. His eyes are narrowed, his head tipped to one side. Is Dean angry with him? He can't understand what he has done that would incite the hunter's wrath. "Dean," he repeats.

Lucifer speaks from behind him. "Let there be light," he says. His voice is firm, commanding. Cassiel turns to look at his brother. Bright light seems to burst out of Lucifer. His wings unfurl at his back. Cassiel raises a hand in a defensive gesture against the brightness that emanates from them.

Four enormous wings spread in an immense span. The upper pair arc high over Lucifer's head, the tips almost meeting one another at the top. The lower pair are only slightly smaller. They spread out to either side. All four wings seem to glitter with jewelled colours. Every hue in the spectrum glisters and dances from them. As Lucifer raises his hands heavenward, light bursts from his eyes, his mouth and from the palms of his hands.

Crowley mutters an oath and pulls Dean away, seeking cover from the light that seems to radiate all across the beach. White capped waves can be seen. It is as if a small star has birthed on the beach, a miniature sun that vanquishes the dense darkness that reigned before.

Gabriel flares his wings, the soft golden light around them increasing. Micheal, too, stretches his wings into an arc above his head.

With a powerful downbeat of his upper wings, Lucifer leaps skywards followed by Gabriel and Michael. Cassiel, with one last glance at where he saw Dean take cover with Crowley, joins his brothers in the air.

Angels and demons swirl around them in an aerial dance. Lucifer draws his sword and raises it on high. "I call upon this present darkness and command it to abase itself before the light!"

There is a tearing shriek of wind, and the sound of many thunders. The sea below churns and foams in a fury and begins to swirl. A vortex forms, and from this, erupts a solid column of water stretching upwards into the sky.

As though they had awaited this very event, the angels and demons hurl themselves against the water spout. Thunder crashes, red lightning flares and there is chaos as the forces of heaven and hell battle against the surging seas.

Lucifer pays no attention to the battle raging around him, but turns his face towards the west. He begins to fly in that direction. Cassiel, watching him, frowns, but follows. He lets his gaze track beyond the bright cherubim and searches the skies ahead of them. At first he cannot make anything out against the darkness, but slowly, something begins to take form. When he realizes what he is seeing, his wings falter for a moment.

 _You are deceived, Castiel. You must learn the truth._ Words spoken by Michael in a dream that seems long ago to him now.

Ahead, on the western side of the skies, stands a slight, slender figure. Her feet rest upon a surging mass of cloud and her dark blonde hair streams behind her, stirred by a buffeting wind. She seems altogether too frail to withstand the force of the gale, and yet, she stands unmoved.

"Amara." So this was the deception? The darkness hid its corporeal form in this reality. _But that makes no sense...why hide herself until now?_

Lucifer gives a shout and stoops towards her like a bird of prey. Drawing his blade, Cassiel answers the battle cry with his own, and swoops into a tight formation with Michael and Gabriel.

In the distance, Amara throws her hands skywards and the four celestial beings are hit by a wave of power. It feels almost like slamming into a solid wall of water, and yet, the air is dry. Gabriel cries out, one of his wings twisting grotesquely. He pulls the pinions close to his body, rolls over in the air, rapidly losing altitude.

"Brother!" Cassiel dives after him, flies past and comes up beneath the plummeting archangel, lending him support as he rights himself, tests his wings and then ascends calling his thanks to Cassiel across the turbulent air.

 

**On the ground: Miami Beach**

 

Crowley steps from his hiding place and straightens up, dusting off his black overcoat. He casts a glance at the sky, and the four glowing points of light, one a bright protostar against the darkness, followed by three others, blue, gold and white. He can sense the power of the entity they're closing in on. Her tenebrosity calls to him. He hisses between his teeth. "Such a pity we can't keep her around, really. She'd certainly shake things up a bit."

Beside him, Dean seems to stir, as if from a trance. "What? What happened?" he rasps.

"You got eaten, ducks." Crowley sneers. "You wouldn't catch _me_ kissing Lucifer, I don't care whose mouth he was wearing." He snorts. "Still. No great harm done. I always preferred my Dean a little on the darker side of roasted."

Dean merely stares at him, obviously not catching the subtle humor.

"Your soul, Squirrel. Luci slurped it right out of you."

"Oh." Dean says.

"Yeah. Definitely prefer this version."

  
  
  



	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
>  [Image credit allthesupernaturalgifs.tumblr](http://allthesupernaturalgifs.tumblr.com/post/26294404121/spng-tags-chuck-prophet-writing-is-hard)   
>  _A/N Man, this chapter was an utter WITCH to write. I've been practically sleepless for days getting it done. It's essentially the final chapter of my Season 11 Alternate Arc. I hope you have enjoyed it. Yes, there are ends left untied but I was watching videos of panels from VegasCon last night and it was said, I think, by Jared that you don't always have to tie up the loose ends, because by doing that, you can sometimes jump the shark. So I've left a few ends untied. I may actually use those as jumping off points for further stories in this series though, so keep an eye out._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _I toyed with making an epilogue, but I don't know. I think the story stands well enough as is._
> 
>  
> 
> _If there are things you absolutely MUST know the answers to, feel free to hit me up on[tumblr](http://crowleystolemyillusions.tumblr.com) or drop me an email. My address is on my profile here._
> 
>  
> 
> _This is, probably, the longest chapter in this story, but I tried to answer some of the more burning questions readers have asked me._
> 
>  
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> __So...bittersweetly...read on! Oh and... **SORRY**__

**Above The North Atlantic Ocean: 25.0000° N, 71.0000° W**

 

Cassiel fights against a strengthening headwind, beating his wings hard and fast against the gale as he tries to follow his brothers into the fray. Below them, the sea is churned to fury. Waves crest and crash; waterspouts erupt as the surrounding tempest swells to a crescendo of howling wind, stinging sleet and searing flashes of red, blue and white plasma that scorch across the sky. The bolts barely miss the archangel's wings.

"Gabriel!" He cries into the teeth of the storm. He can barely see his brother, nor can he make out Michael's form. Lucifer, though, is a beacon, a lodestar in the distance. Cassiel redoubles his efforts pushing on against the unrelenting forces of darkness that oppose him.

He is blinded for a moment when a squall of wind, filled with ice slams into his vessel's face. Shaking his head, Cassiel roars his frustration and sheds the vessel. The body plummets towards the earth and Cassiel stretches and flexes muscles long bound by human flesh and bone. He warbles his wings, and with a powerful down beat, soars upwards, hoping to rise above the storm.

He sees Gabriel and Michael both in their angelic forms. With an elated cry, he cuts across the wind currents towards them.

In this form, there is much less resistance from the wind and he joins the two archangels within seconds. They meet, midair. They comingle and entwine, their wings brushing against each other. They touch on a level unknown to any corporeal being. Their patterns connect and interconnect and release in a harmony of light, movement and sound. Ancient tongues whisper in, and around and through them.

_ESIASCH OL HOATH QAA IPAMIS GAHALANA*_

The elaborate greeting ritual completed, the three turn as one and fly towards Lucifer and Amara

In their true forms, the three archangels easily slip and weave through the howling winds that Amara has raised against them. The boiling, twisting waterspouts and high seas are no obstacle. A wavelength can traverse the tempest as easily as water flows over and around rocks.

Ahead of them, Lucifer's radiance beckons and calls, summoning them to war. Cassiel twines himself in and around and through his brothers. Together, they form a ribbon of energy. To anyone watching from the earth, they might appear as aurora, nothing a human has not seen before. Indeed, nothing which has not been reported and rumoured in this part of the earth's oceans before. They dance, they soar, they whirl and below them, the earth is wracked and wrenched with tremors, thunderings, roaring seas and gale force winds. If any human notices the light show in the sky, they do not pause to remark on it.

 

**Miami Beach: Florida**

 

Hidden in the shadows underneath a lifeguard's hut - a somewhat flimsy hiding place, given the circumstances - Crowley lies on his belly in the sand. Next to him, Dean Winchester is supine, frowning so hard, Crowley can feel it despite the darkness.

"What's your problem, Squirrel?"

"I just have to wonder what we're doing, hiding here when the endgame is obviously going down?"

"Surviving." Crowley shoots the hunter a look. "You don't think I got to be this old by jumping into any old brawl that happened along, do you?"

"I guess not," Dean replies. "But I thought you had some kind of alliance going with Lucifer."

"Yes. I upheld my end of it. He's got my minions at his command. I got you out of his way...one _can_ be an ally without needing to sully one's hands. Why _have_ minions if you can't use them as cannon fodder?"

"Get me out of the way? What for?"

Crowley rolls his eyes. "Because, love, Lucifer didn't want you interfering, trying to rescue your precious brother." A thought strikes him. "Do you actually care at all what happens to Sam right now?"

"Sam?" Dean shrugs. "Sam can take care of himself."

Crowley snorts. "There's a bloody good chance your brother will come out dead on the other side of this, you know?" He glances at Dean, his eyes able, even in the pitch blackness to make out nuances of expression. _Nope, nothing. Mr Botox._ He shakes his head, squirms a little trying to get comfortable on the cold sand.

"So what, we're just gonna lie here making sand angels until it's all over?"

There is definitely something extremely sexy about this no conscience thing. Crowley rolls onto his side, facing Dean. "Well, we could try some more...prurient activities." He lets his tongue touch the corner of his lips.

"In the middle of a war?" He sees Dean turn to look at him here. A reaction, and if Crowley's extra sensitive sense of smell is correct, it's the _right_ reaction.

"No better time. Doomed soldiers in foxholes have been doing it for aeons."

"Hmm." Dean shuffles closer. "So, what're you waiting for? "

Crowley smiles and pulls Dean to him. "Who's waiting?" He pulls Dean into a hungry kiss.

 

**Above The North Atlantic Ocean: 25.0000° N, 71.0000° W**

 

Lucifer and the embodied darkness appear to be engaged in some form of energetic duel. They spar, raising winds and waves and bright flashes of plasma. The Light bearer seems amused, rather than enraged. To Cassiel, he resembles a cat which toys with the prey before dealing the death blow. Cassiel wonders if his brother is underestimating the opponent.

As the three archangels approach, Amara turns her attention to them briefly. She speaks a word in enochian and a wall of solid black rushes at them. Cassiel feels the impact of it. This is no mere weather or energy phenomenon. This is dark power. He falters, feels a shudder run through his brothers also. They break apart, disoriented.

For a long moment, Cassiel cannot discern which way is up or down, His senses are overcome with a deep sense of desolation, hopelessness. He wants to let himself fall into the darkness. To fade and to be no more. The longing for rest tugs at him, alluring.

A tendril of golden light touches him. _Gabriel._  Strength flows back into his being and Cassiel rallies. He entwines his essence with Gabriel's and all is well.

Amara shakes her head, frowning as Michael, Cassiel and Gabriel regroup. "That's not possible," she says. "They should have been destroyed."

Lucifer chuckles. "Things have changed since the last time you were here," he says. He buffs Sam's nails against his suit, looking a little bored. "Besides, you chose _this_ location to stage your little coup?" He shakes his head. "Please, this is _my_ vortex. This is where I touched down when I fell. This little triangle of the earth is imbued with my power."

"You cannot defeat me, this time," Amara says with a defiant lift of her chin. "I am more powerful than you. You don't have my brother to help you fight."

Lucifer ignores this salvo. He glances over his shoulder. Says: "Michael."

Cassiel hears a long, crystal note of a trumpet. A rallying call. Nearer the beach, the angels break off their battle and charge across the seas towards them. A boiling cloud of demons follows.

"Do you really think your pathetic armies can prevail against me?" Amara sneers. She lifts her hands and begins to chant in Enochian.

Lucifer scowls and flicks his wrist. The very air around them seems to shudder and Amara is sent reeling across the sky. She screams, a sound of rage and surprise. After a moment, she stops her careening flight and rights herself. She parts her lips to speak.

" _CHRISTEOS OLAPIRETA."_ Lucifer's voice tears the air with a sound like thunder. The tempest seems to abate at the sound of words, spoken so long ago at the first dawn of creation. Spoken by the father when he brought the great light of the sun into existence. There is authority in his words. The wind dies down, the seas cease their churning and in the moment after the command is spoken the sky itself seems to tear asunder and all the glory of heaven itself shines upon them.

The demons scatter to the four winds. The angels, archangels and Amara herself all gaze heavenward as a shout answers back to Lucifer's cry.

Out of the light of heaven a radiant being rides forward mounted upon a horse so dazzling white that it's glistening coat seems to outshine the sun itself. Cassiel averts his eyes he bows before this bright being whose brilliance overshadows that of Lucifer.

"The Begotten," Cassiel murmurs.

Somewhere, a woman screams. A high, thin wail of anguish that seems to go on forever.

"Sorry, sweetheart." Lucifer smirks. "I guess Dad forgot to send you the birth announcement. Light of the World,  your aunt," he says gesturing from the horseman to Amara. "Darkness, your nephew. Now we've got the formalities outta the way, what say we get this over with?"

_How did Lucifer do that?_ Cassiel puzzles.

_He's the Light Bringer, dummy,_ Gabriel replies.

_But...he is the adversary. How can he command the son of righteousness?_

_He didn't._ Gabriel says. _He just opened the gate. And don't even consider asking me how we convinced him to do that...It's a_ very _long story!_

Cassiel raises his head and looks at the resplendent man on the white horse. The rider holds a gleaming scepter in one hand, and as Cassiel watches, he raises it above his head.

_NOW!_ Michael cries and together, Cassiel Gabriel and Michael rush at Lucifer. Their combined energy slams against the small of Sam Winchester's back and Lucifer is sent tumbling, wings beating frantically to right himself.

Before he can regain his bearings, the three archangels are on him again, they break apart, surrounding him and buffet the vessel with wings and blades.

Again and again, they throw themselves against Lucifer who struggles to fend them off. The vessel is damaged. Lucifer has lost pinion feathers. He roars his rage and betrayal and turning, attempts to flee.

"Release the vessel!" Cassiel shouts as he flies at Lucifer. "Release Sam Winchester!"

Michael circles around to attack the light bearer head on.

With a hate filled scream Lucifer erupts out of Sam Winchester's body in a dazzling yellow-white flare of light. His true form blazes, expanding into a shape that resembles a nautilus with arcs and curves coiling into a scintillating orb at the heart of the spiral.

Sam's body plunges towards the ocean below and Cassiel dives after it. As he stoops, he changes shape. His etheric form morphs into the shape of a creature, half eagle, half lion. He tucks his wings to reduce resistance and extends powerful talons as he nears his target. He reaches the hunter just before Sam hits the waves. Snatching the human out of the air, Cassiel bears him to high ground and relative safety on the shore and then he returns to his brothers.

 

Kneeling on her platform of clouds. Amara is a shattered image of her former defiance and pride. She seems unable to move. She weeps and rails, uttering threats, but does not attempt to make good on any of them.

Michael and Gabriel, joined by The Begotten are locked in combat with Lucifer. The light bearer appears to be weakening. Cassiel joins the fray. Angels swirl and dance in his peripheral vision. Some stand watch over Amara, others seem torn between that, and joining the battle against Lucifer. Cassiel calls them to him and leads a charge.

Already weakened, Lucifer falters as Cassiel leads his angels into the fight. His radiance dims a little. Cassiel rakes at the light bearer with his talons and ribbons of light seem to shear away from Lucifer's form.

The Begotten raises his scepter and speaks a word in a tongue that Cassiel has never heard, and yet, it seems deeply familiar to him. As Cassiel watches, Lucifer seems to fade and then his form elongates, thins out, and begins to flow into the head of the upraised scepter.

Michael and Gabriel vent cries of triumph and perform an ecstatic dance, their forms gliding across the skies entwining and separating, beams of light sparking off of them and shooting high above the Earth's atmosphere. Cassiel averts his eyes, not wishing to intrude on what seems like an intimate moment between his brothers. He turns his attention to The Begotten.

The white horse has wheeled around and is cantering towards where Amara still kneels on her clouds, surrounded by angels. As they approach her, The Begotten lifts the scepter, much like a tilting knight of old. Cassiel flies closer.

The head of the scepter glows with a brilliant white light of such intensity that it makes Cassiel's eyes water. As the horse closes in on Amara that light begins to flow out of the scepter. It strikes Amara's chest and the woman reels backwards with an agonised scream.

Light floods into her and Amara throws her head back, howling with rage and fear. The light begins to shine out of her eyes and mouth and her entire body shimmers with it. The Begotten is pouring Lucifer's very essence into her.

Cassiel lifts his wings, thrusting all four feet forward to brake, afraid to come any closer as the spectacle plays out before him. He half closes his eyes. Nictitating membranes shield them from the worst of the glare.

He can no longer make out a human shape. Where Amara had been there is only a molten fountain of light, flecked through with swirling, smoke like darkness. As he watches, those swirls diminish until with an explosion of light resembling a starburst the darkness scatters, the sun breaks forth into the sky and a deep, breathless stillness descends.

Amara, the darkness, the demons all have vanished. Only The Begotten remains, mounted on his white steed, surrounded by angels, and by Gabriel and Michael. All are chanting in Enochian. "Behold, the Light of The World has overcome the darkness!"

Cassiel bows his head and adds his own voice to the chant, but his heart is drawn elsewhere and after a moment, he breaks off and makes a circling descent to the clifftop here he left Sam Winchester.

The hunter's lifeless form lies where he left it. Cassiel places one taloned forefoot on Sam's chest, seeking the stirring of a heartbeat. There is nothing. He cannot feel Sam's pulse, he cannot detect the human's soul. Nor that of Dean Winchester. He closes his eyes, his wings droop to the earth at his sides.

A harsh mournful cry sounds from his throat, repeated over and over until he has no voice left to give it utterance.

  
* Roughly: Brothers, beloved, created not born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for staying with me for this long, long story. I know...the ending hurts. It hurts me too. But maybe it's not the END so much as just the end of this story. Forgive me for not tagging it...I know people hate when chracters die. _I_ hate when characters die, but remember, this is Supernatural ;)
> 
> Comments, cuss words, kudos or brickbats? Questions, Diatribes...all can be left here, or you can contact me on  
> [tumblr](http://Crowleystolemyillusions.tumblr.com) Or email me. My address is on my profile. I will reply if you're not abusive. Abusive emails or chats/notes will be sent to purgatory unacknowledged.


	43. Epilogue: Waiting for the dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally posted this chapter as a stand alone, but upon consideration, I think it actually belongs here as the epilogue to this story.
> 
> I am kind of sad that the story ends this way, but at the same time, it feels right. Sure, I _could_ fix it. Doing that, though, I think would lessen the power of what went before.
> 
> There are things in life worth dying for. There are people for whom, one would sacrifice everything. There are people left to grieve over the fact that they came back, when others who were just as worthy didn't. That is life. It sucks, but it's also, somehow right that it should be that way.
> 
> _Oh my friends, my friends forgive me_  
>  _That I live and you are gone_  
>  _There's a grief that can't be spoken_  
>  _There's a pain goes on and on_  
>  Marius: Empty Chairs At Empty Tables  
> Les Miserables.

The bar is named The Oasis. It bears no resemblance to anything he would recognize as such. It gives a nod to it's name with the flashing neon sign that alternates an image of a camel with palm trees among sand dunes, beside what he supposes must be a pool of water. Inside, the bar has one or two dusty artificial palms to further the halfhearted homage to its name. It serves alcohol though, and the barmaid keeps the shots coming long after he's consumed more than enough cheap whiskey to render the average mortal insensate.

He sets his glass on the counter with a resounding thud, holds up two fingers to order more and stares into the most recently drained glass with a blank expression. The alcohol hasn't helped to dull the ache he feels inside. He frowns, rolls his shoulders, irked by some unseen weight at his back and glances along the bar, looking for his drinks. He doesn't know why he's here.

Because...where else would I go?

The barmaid sets two shot glasses before him and he picks one up, draining it with a quick toss of his head.

"We're closing," the barmaid says. "Last drinks."

"Bring me the bottle," he replies. When she quirks an eyebrow, he reaches into a pocket of his coat and slaps a wad of money on the bar. A trick he learned from… He shakes his head. Conjuring money is easy. Easy the way that other things once came easily to him. Easy as restoring breath to a lifeless body. Easy as drawing a soul out of perdition and returning it to its rightful mortal frame. He closes his eyes. He's not supposed to think about those things. That only makes the ache harder to bear.

"Are you okay?"

"What?" He opens his eyes, looks into a pair of concerned hazel eyes beneath a mop of unruly, dirty blonde hair. For a moment, the breath catches in his throat. He almost says a name. But it's a trick of the light. The barmaid offers him a small smile.

"You looked a little…"

"I'm fine." He picks up the bottle she has brought him, wrapped in brown paper, and pushes it into the pocket of his trench coat. "Thanks."

He wanders out into the night. A normal city night, but for the leftover debris from the storms of a few days before. News channels still babble and speculate over the freak weather phenomenon that occurred off Miami beach. Wide eyed reporters on the scene tell of thunder, weird lightning, aurora, lightning balls, and even earth tremors that characterized the aberrant storm system.

He can almost convince himself that's all it was. Weather. But he knows better. His heart still aches for the loss of Sam Winchester. For the loss of Dean's soul. He still sees the brilliant explosion of Lucifer's essence poured into the heart of the darkness. Every time he closes his eyes, it replays. It's etched into his retinas. It's burned into his optic nerves. It can never be unseen. The most beautiful of God's Angels. The most beautiful of human souls. Gone.

And He has nowhere, now, to go. There is no heaven for him. There is no bunker. He tried both, and found them hollow, echoing with the voices of too many dead.

The war is over, and he has returned alive while so many have perished.

He cannot even weep.

He cannot find solace in drunkenness. He opens the bottle and pours out the contents. A libation to death and hollow victories.

He takes flight and ascends to a high place in the city and stares out over the streets and the span of centuries behind him, and those that lie ahead.

He sets his face towards the east and waits for the sun to rise.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment. Comments are rocket fuel that make me write faster. There might be cookies!


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